


The Most Honest Truth

by Gargant



Category: Tales of Xillia
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-12-23
Updated: 2015-12-27
Packaged: 2018-03-03 01:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 50,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2832485
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gargant/pseuds/Gargant
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Divergence catalysts—a tragic but well-documented side effect of Chromatus use. </p><p>But what if there had been some means to undo the damage done? What if someone had tried to find a way? (Post-Chapter 12, alternate version of events)</p><p>*Epilogue posted! Thank you everyone!</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nienna](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nienna/gifts).



> Talemas gift for Nienna! I'm so sorry for giving you an incomplete story; it was (of course) my intention to gift you a completed work, but the story kind of grew in the telling. So here's the beginning of a ridiculous disaster (& what else could you have expected when requesting Rideaux!). Updates will be forthcoming, and I hope you enjoy! Merry Christmas!
> 
>  
> 
> -

Perhaps if he had known what was to come, Rideaux would never have listened to the message.

Seated at his desk, Rideaux was enjoying the sensation of having very little to do. Just one of the perks of his new promotion—as Director of the DODA , passing off work to _lesser_ employees had never been easier or more acceptable. Sure, his coffee was still served too damn cold, but who would dare to complain if he sat behind Julius's— sorry, _his_ desk all day and did absolutely nothing at all? Not even Bisley would care, busy as he was pressing forward with the final preparations for Origin's Trial.

Life was looking as fine as it ever had. Maybe there wasn't a great deal of competition for the title 'Best Time in Rideaux Zek Rugievit's Life', but even so. This was it.

That was, until the message ruined everything.

Rideaux picked up his GHS without a second thought, flicking it open to see what had prompted the notification to sound. Not a text at all, but instead a voice message from an unidentified number. _That_ was certainly unusual, and he sat a little straighter before tapping to listen.

 _Meet with me, you know where. Come alone_.

That was it. No time, no place, not even so much as a greeting. So very, very typical of _Julius_. Rideaux pressed the GHS hard to his ear and listened with rapt intent, replaying the message and trying to catch any clue or sign as to where the sender might be. That was all he wanted, just some innocent tell-tale background noise to reveal where the message had been delivered from. Was that really too much to hope for?

But of course it was, and he should have known better. Julius had always been much too careful for that sort of thing. Even so he listened three more times before deleting the message, and only on the last play did Rideaux allow himself to begin considering the words.

 _Meet with me, you know where. Come alone_.

Julius. _Julius_ , it was always damn Julius who found some way to sour his morning. Even when he wasn't _present_ he found a way. Rideaux sat back, shifted around in a fit of newly frustrated discomfort, then leaned forward again to rest his elbows against the polished surface of his desk. This office had always been too stuffy. No wonder if had suited Julius so well all these years.

Why would he agree to such a thing? Blind curiosity? Did Julius really think him such an idiot? Rideaux swigged a mouthful of his too cold coffee and resisted the urge to spit. _That_ was just like Julius too, to have such a low opinion of him. Why would he ever fall into such an obvious trap? Bah. He had half a mind to do it, just to give Julius a well-deserved piece of his mind. Show him just how difficult it was to _truly_ catch him off-guard.

… And it _was_ true that he had nothing else booked in for the day. Bisley was unlikely to call on him, all his other tasks had been delegated... And he really didn’t fancy being served any more of this abysmal tar they were calling a macchiato.

 _Come alone_ , though? Not a chance. Rideaux rapped his fingers against the desk as he considered, before shoving himself to his feet.

This was _not_ how he had envisioned starting his day.

 

-

 

Standing in the gloomy backstreets of downtown Duval, Rideaux turned and fixed Ivar with one final deathly glare.

“This is the last time. Say it back to me.”

Ivar stood taller, chin raised as if to try and contend with the height difference between them. “You're here on private business, sir, not to be repeated to anyone, sir. My job is to scout the vicinity and report directly to you if I see anything suspicious. If you don't come back out in one hour's time, I'm to force my way in and use any means necessary to—”

“Just aim for his face,” Rideaux interrupted, taking a moment to imagine the sight. Ivar would be no match for Julius, but with the edge of surprise in his favour? Maybe he'd be able to land a hit or two before being annihilated. It would be nice to see _Julius_ sporting the blackened eye for a change.

“Right. Aim for his face, sir.” On that Ivar crossed his arms and nodded firmly, before casting a conspicuous eye over their surroundings. “I'll get to it.”

Rideaux watched, deadpan, as Ivar disappeared down an alley and out of sight, and considered—not for the first time that day—the depths of his own foolishness. It was a novel experience, at least; he was usually far more cautious than this. Yet here he was, answering a summons from Julius and bringing _Ivar_ of all people to serve as his back-up.

Julius _had_ told him to come alone, but Rideaux was never going to make a choice _that_ stupid. His scalpels were pinned beneath the pressed sleeves of his suit—if he was to have some clandestine meeting with wanted fugitive Julius Will Kresnik, then he was at least going to do so armed and prepared.

Or at least as prepared as possible on such short notice. Julius hadn't provided a time, which meant _'come immediately or not at all'_. As for the place... ' _You know where'_ could really only be here, a bar that Rideaux enjoyed and Julius merely tolerated, and a place they'd met frequently during their embattled teenage years. How long now since they'd last been here together?

 _Too long_ , a part of him thought.

The stupid part, clearly. It was Julius who had grown less and less inclined to deal with him, something that made more sense now that little Ludger Kresnik was in the picture. Sure, he and Julius had never been _friends_ , not in the way normal people would mark such things, but there might have been a time once when they'd be _lesser_ enemies. Julius was to blame for that. Julius was to blame for a great many things.

And yet, again. Here he was. With one last cynical glance, Rideaux walked down the steps of the Film Noir and stooped his way through the door.

The bartender was familiar, and familiar with Rideaux. More importantly, he was familiar with Rideaux's increasingly influential position in Spirius, and was very well-behaved as a result. Just the sort of qualities Rideaux liked to see from a lowly common man. Indeed, his customary bottle of Duval Noir was served before he'd even made his way across the room, accompanied by a single glass topped with ice. Rideaux smiled.

“A second,” He ordered glibly, watching the flicker of surprise in the barman's eyes as he obeyed. “And I'll be taking this to the back room today. You'll know my guest when he arrives. See he's let through, and _please_ , let's be sure to keep this hush hush, mm?”

It was funny what a man could read into a polite request given in just the right tone. The bartender nodded, placed a second chilled glass atop the bar, and went back to his work without any further comment. Still smiling, Rideaux collected his drink, the glasses, and headed to the back.

Privacy was something he'd always savoured. Too many days spent beneath unwelcome eyes had seen to that. The back room was dingy and erred toward unclean, carrying with it the sort of grim haze associated with long nights of poker and illegal—or illicit—liaisons. Given the unique circumstances, that suited Rideaux just fine. The room held three booths, each with space to comfortably sit four or uncomfortably cram six. Otherwise there was a thin wooden bar along one wall, lined with long-legged barstools—that sort of space had always suited him better, and that was where Rideaux settled himself to wait.

It didn't take long.

He didn't bother looking up when Julius entered, settling for a sidelong glance and a thin shrug of shoulders. “You kept me waiting,” he lied, and let Julius draw whatever conclusions he liked from Rideaux's apparent disinterest.

In truth he wanted nothing more than to stare Julius down. No, better, he wanted to shake the truth out of him, and maybe throw a little violent revenge into the bargain. They still had a score that needed settling. Their last encounter, and Julius's grand escape from captivity, had been a... less-than-satisfactory experience, in the sense of it being a complete and humiliating disaster. Never mind the bruising to his precious face.

Even Ivar had had a good chuckle at that one. When you were low enough for _Ivar_ to laugh at you, something had gone terribly wrong.

The whole fiasco played through his mind, and Rideaux silently commended himself for maintaining nonchalant composure. If he wanted to find out just what game Julius was playing, he had to appear to be following the rules. At least for now.

Broad-shouldered, and looking eminently composed, Julius silently closed the door behind him and stepped further into the room. He didn't appear to be armed—but then, neither did Rideaux, and they both had the Chromatus at their disposal. It was a polite fiction, at least, and one Rideaux took note of.

“I wasn't sure you'd come,” Julius said, and for a second it almost looked as though he was going to smile. Barely a shadow of warmth, yet a lot more than Rideaux had come to expect between them. Perversely, he almost found himself returning the gesture—managing at the last moment to twist the empty sentimentality into a far more fitting smirk.

“Consider it curiosity,” He said, and shrugged again as he motioned for Julius to join him at the bar. “Not the wisest choice I've ever made, no doubt, but it really would have eaten me up not to know. Sit down, Julius. Have a drink with me.” Rideaux topped his own glass from the shared bottle to punctuate the point, holding Julius's gaze as he took a fire-laced sip. _See? No poison. You can trust me._

Even so Julius didn't move. Rideaux placed his shotglass back down with a heavy thud, unimpressed at having his courtesy ignored.

“Does anyone know you're here?” Julius asked, and continued asking when Rideaux met the question with a withering look. “I'm serious. Does Bakur know you're here?”

 _He should_ , Rideaux thought. “No. He doesn't, Spirius doesn't, nobody knows.” _Except Ivar_. “I'm not armed, I'm all alone. Here I am, Julius. So, you would care to tell me what's going on? I don't like being kept in the dark, least of all by you.”

“When have I ever done that?” Julius replied, as bare-faced a lie as Rideaux had ever heard. “I've done a lot for your over the years.”

“ _Really,_ ” Rideaux drawled, crossing his legs in one long languid motion. “I can't say I ever noticed.”

“Of course not,” Julius snapped back without hesitation, then belatedly seemed to catch himself. Rideaux watched with mounting fascination as Julius took several deep breaths, gathering composure in apparent preparation. Despite everything Rideaux leant forward, attention thoroughly captured by this strange performance. Just where _was_ this going? Julius drew in air, opened his mouth to speak.

“ _Mrrrow_ ,” said a voice from beyond the door, followed immediately by a young girl's loud conspiratorial whisper; “Shh, Rollo! Not yet!”

There was a long silence. Julius, damn him, didn't even have the good grace to look embarrassed. Jaw clenched and eyes narrowed to the thinnest of glowering points, Rideaux asked, “Do we have guests, Julius?”

He didn't even bother to answer, instead simply turning on one smart heel and opening the door. There - like something out of a weekend morning comedy – stood, crouched and knelt a too familiar bunch. Elle was on the floor, hands pressed across the jowly face of Julius's grossly fat cat. Beside her was Ludger, looking alarmed, and a very pink-faced blonde girl who's name Rideaux had never bothered to learn. One by one he checked off the rest of them—Maxwell herself, looking affronted to even be in his presence. Alvin Svent, the vying businessman, and next to him the reporter girl. Doctor Jude Mathis, possibly most familiar of all. And behind _them_ stood the important ones, the Rieze Maxian officials.

Floating above, all great billowing hair and an expression of falsely delicate shock, was the spirit wench. “Oh dear,” She crowed, sounding too pleased by half. “It looks as though we've been discovered. How scary.”

“Quiet, Muzét,” King Gaius murmured, motioning. Rideaux watched them file in, and felt a lurch in the pit of his stomach, something between excitement and dread. It was a feeling he knew well by now: the rush of adrenaline that always accompanied a threat to his life.

 _I've survived worse odds than this_ , he thought to himself, not dwelling on whether or not that was particularly true.

The group fanned out to fill the room, Julius closing the door behind them and standing with arms crossed at the back. Rideaux gave him another withering glare before turning his attention to the rest. None of them had their weapons drawn, but they _were_ all armed, and wearing expressions that ranged from mild curiosity to outright disgust. He found himself liking _those_ faces much more—it was always nice to know he'd made a lasting impression.

If they were all going to stand then so was he; Rideaux rose, and smirked ice at the collective ripple that followed his movements. Oh yes, they were all quite prepared to fight him. And here he was, surrounded. He'd gone against his own damn instincts, and now he was surrounded. By _amateurs_. It was enough to curdle the blood.

“ _I_ came here in good faith, and _this_ is how you repay me. What is this, Julius? You lure me out here and then you kill me?” Rideaux's mouth twisted, something between grimace and smirk. “I must say that seems low, even for you.”

He looked at Ludger, then, with something more akin to a sneering grin; Ludger, the dim-witted little brother so very adept at following orders. Or so it had seemed. “Have you been working together this entire time? If so I must say I'm impressed. Here I thought you truly were nothing more than Bakur's convenient pawn. Bravo indeed.

And here I am. Innocent, unaccompanied, and so willing to hear what you had to say. Quite a reversal, isn't it? By all means, try and make me regret it.”

It was the Svent who answered first, with far too much cocky dismissal for Rideaux's liking. “You really do like the sound of your own voice, don't you?”

“Shut up, Rideaux.” Julius. Of course that was Julius. “And sit back down. Unless that willingness to listen is just another of your bluffs.”

It wasn't the answer he'd been expecting, not even close. Rideaux caught himself in a moment of frozen indecision, swallowed surprised and narrowed it into suspicion. “Don't make me keep asking this.” Rideaux settled back slightly on the heels of his smart dress shoes, one hand settled on his cocked hip. “Just what game are you playing?”

“This isn't a game.” Jude Mathis, no friend of his. He knew better than to trust that placating tone. “We really are here to talk.”

“And that requires twelve of you to just one of me? I'm outnumbered and unarmed. You're making me uncomfortable.” They all exchanged glances at that, so beautifully predictable in their desire to be _fair_. Under other circumstances he would have rolled his eyes. Of course they wouldn't want to thin their numbers, but he could almost see the cogs turning in their collective do-gooder minds. Where could he possibly go? Even _if_ they stepped outside the room he'd still have to break through them to escape.

Tch. The thought alone chafed him. How could he have let himself step into this farcical trap in the first place?

Rideaux swallowed and watched, weighing their reactions. Ludger was looking to his brother for guidance. Milla Maxwell, arms folded, seemed prepared to fight to the death before giving a single inch—Rideaux graced her with a heavy-lidded smile, and suppressed another smirk at the way her eyes narrowed in response. Gaius was looking equally staunch, and that damnable spirit alongside him... well, who knew what _she_ was thinking behind that vacant smile...

One long breath, then another, before he delicately began to sidle left. Distracted as they were, perhaps... but no. And it wasn't even Julius who cut him off. The Rieze Maxian Prime Minister was there, a disarming expression on his face as he softly suggested, “You probably shouldn't try.”

“Probably not,” Rideaux agreed through a gritted smile. This was ridiculous, and his patience had run its limited course. With a surly glower towards all present he turned, perched back on the barstool and poured himself another glass of Duval Noir. If Julius wasn't going to share with him, then fine. He'd just drink it all himself. “Enough dawdling,” he snapped, drawing their eyes back to him. “If you aren't going to kill me, how about getting to the point. The sight of you all is giving me a headache.”

It was Maxwell who took the bait, looking no more willing to move than before. “Firstly, you've already lied to us.”

“Is that so?” He replied breezily, and wondered what he might have said to warrant the accusation. She probably wasn't wrong.

“You told us you're here unaccompanied. That isn't true.”

“We've already seen Ivar,” Jude added, in a tone almost apologetic.

Ivar. _Ivar._ Just another one for the list of terrible decisions he'd made today.

“Of course you have.” Rideaux curled his lip, taking a long sip from his glass. They were still no closer to telling him what this is all about. “Would you like a written apology? I said, _get to the point_.”

The girl in the hat grinned at that, looking as though she would enjoy a written apology very much indeed. Rideaux privately resolved to send something scathing to the paper she worked for.

Jude motioned to Ludger, an ambiguous gesture. Rideaux wondered if it was an invitation to speak, or an offer to do so in his stead. Either way, baby brother Kresnik returned a stricken look, glancing first at Elle and then plaintively at Julius before finally speaking up. “Elle is... Elle's becoming a divergence catalyst.” Ludger met his gaze at that, his eyes suddenly filled with a spark of something disgustingly Julius. “We have to find a way to stop it.”

“Fascinating,” Rideaux said shortly. It was Julius who had his attention now, Julius who stared back at him with stiff shoulders and dead eyes. _He hasn't told them_ , Rideaux suddenly knew, a satisfying blossom of realisation. It was about time _something_ went in his favour. “Go on.”

Once again, it was Milla Maxwell who spoke. “Julius believes you might be able to help,” she began, the disbelief in her voice very apparent. “He says you have been involved with catalysts, and the Chromatus itself, for a long time. He values your expertise. If we want to find a solution quickly enough to save Elle, he believes we need your assistance.”

That at least seemed to pull a response from Julius—a low grumble, heedless of the fact Maxwell wasn't done speaking, followed by a muttering, “I don't remember saying all that.”

With a firm shake of her head, Maxwell continued. “I disagree. You've already proven yourself untrustworthy. We have solved many problems together, Jude, our comrades and I. I see no reason to involve anyone we don't have cause to trust— in particular, I see no reason to involve _you_.”

Young Elle wasn't the only one still mourning that fake Maxwell, then. It must have been terribly easy for them to judge him, especially now having him at such a disadvantage. Rideaux ground his teeth in muted frustration, taking silent note of the pained look on Jude's face, the pointed one Maxwell returned. More knowledge worth having—they were in disagreement about this plan.

Oh well, not that it really mattered. Time to shatter their dreams.

“Again, this is fascinating,” he said, in a tone completely devoid of fascination. “There are so many holes in what you're saying I don't know which ones to point out first.”

“I know it sounds bad,” Jude said, a colossal understatement. “But we have to try.”

Ludger nodded, firm, fervent, short-sighted in the extreme.

Rideaux sighed, swirling idly the contents of his glass. “Surely Julius has already told you everything I'm about to say, but let me repeat it for the class. Spirius has always been aware of what happens to those who overuse their Chromatus. Do you think you're the first ones to try and find the escape clause? There isn't one. There never has been, and there never will be. No amount of belief is going to change that.” Then he smiled, at the girl Elle and the furious glare she returned. “What you need, girl, is to get your affairs in order. Because pretty soon you're going to be gone. Would you like me to make some arrangements?” With false brightness he turned the smile to Julius, “Is _that_ the sort of help you wanted me to offer?”

“That's enough, Rideaux,” Julius interjected firmly, at the same time Maxwell snapped, “You're disgusting to taunt an innocent child.” Between them it was more than enough to set him laughing.

“I don't want him to help me!” Elle shouted into the din, shaking herself free of Ludger's attempts to hold her. “He killed Milla, he's horrible! I hate him!”

“And yet here I am, the only one telling you the truth.” Rideaux lurched to his feet once more, bending forward to grin at her, almost face to face. She was crying, snotty-nosed and red-cheeked, too comical for words. “You should really thank me.”

Instead she ran, pelting out the door with her stupid fat cat in tow. He wasn't sorry to see her go. Even crying children couldn't entertain him for long. Ludger chased her immediately, of course, the two younger girls following after. Smiling placid satisfaction, Rideaux straightened and turned, beginning to reach for his drink.

Julius blocked him, eyes steely behind black frames. Rideaux jerked back, but too slow—Julius caught hold of his wrist, squeezed tight. There weren’t many alive who could make Rideaux grimace with only their bare hands, but damn Julius...

“I said, that's enough.” Julius intoned, deadpan voice punctuated with a savage twist of his iron grip. Rideaux hissed and twisted with it, but managed to smirk around clenched teeth.

“And I heard you. What else would you like me to tell them, Julius? I can think of a few things.” Rideaux flicked his gaze to Julius's gloved hand, the one busy grinding the fine bones of his thin wrist... and gave another hiss, relieved this time, when the grip finally lessened. Julius didn't let go, though.

“Everyone, wait outside. I'll talk to him.”

Rideaux scoffed at the minor uproar caused by Julius's words. Just who did these idiots think they were to try and argue with—with _either_ of them. No one, and it was one small blessing that they didn't take long bickering about it. Jude gave a long measured look before asking Julius 'not to hurt him', a comment that almost had Rideaux biting his tongue in irritation. Gaius was the last to leave the room, and not before making it clear that he would only be on the other side of the door should any need arise. Julius thanked him, low and humble before foreign dignity. Rideaux, still loosely restrained, did little more than sneer.

And then, finally, they were alone once again.

Julius shoved him hard and followed at pace, giving Rideaux no room except to back up into one of the seating booths. It wasn't the sort of space he liked, a low table scraping high knees, but with a nod of mock deference he took his seat and shuffled along the bench. Julius, still sharp-eyed and unimpressed, took a place opposite him.

“Isn't this cosy?” Rideaux smiled, before glancing mournfully at his drink still resting on the bar. The table where they sat was stained with old familiar rings of coffee and liquor, and the harsh scratched dent of knife-point; the legacy of a heated poker dispute. Rideaux hadn't been at the Film Noir that night, but the story afterwards had been amusing.

Rideaux knew himself. Knew well enough that there was nothing in this world he 'loved'. But even in fractured dimensions he'd always found a particular soft spot for this wretched bar. It always felt like _his_ , as much as anything ever did. But now these idiots were tainting it with this ridiculous set of humiliations, and Julius—of all people, damnable _Julius_ —was acting as their ringleader.

“I don't appreciate this, Julius.” Not the first truth he'd given that day, but it certainly felt like the most honest.

“Talk to me, Rideaux,” came the response. Unexpected, again. “Do you really think this is impossible?”

Rideaux tapped a fingernail against the tabletop, eyes narrowed in deep contemplation. Finally, “We both know it can't be done.” He leaned forward, scrutiny deepening into outright suspicion. “Unless there's something you're not telling me. What do you know that I don't? You've discovered something, haven't you?”

“No.” Julius had never been the sort to show weakness easily, even with the number of missions he and Rideaux had served together. _We're both too proud for that_. Nonetheless he raised one hand, elbow settling on the table as he massaged the bridge of his nose just above his glasses. “Nothing new.”

 _At least I'm not the only one getting a headache,_ Rideaux thought, watching the methodical motions of Julius's fingers. When it seemed as thought Julius wasn't going to say anything further Rideaux spoke again, voice low and, alas, sincere. “Was I right about the glove?”

 _That_ pulled a response; Julius looked at him, expression sharp and openly surprised. “You were _guessing?”_

“An educated guess, and years of observation,” Rideaux snapped in turn, folding his arms and leaning back so far as his current position allowed. “If that's how you want to put it. If you're going to tell your new friends I'm oh-so-smart then why don't you try believing it. I know how things work, Julius. You and I have both been at this for years.”

Julius continued to stare at him, expression shifting only enough to take on its customary guarded look. Shaking his head, Rideaux continued, “Since this is just between us, I'll admit it—we both know you've destroyed more fractured dimensions than I have. It only stands to reason that now _you_ would be in worse shape.” _In this regard, at least_. “What is this really about, Julius? Do you really want to save the girl? Or are you just using them to save yourself?”

“I want to save Elle,” Julius replied, whip-like. Rideaux only raised his eyebrows in polite inquiry, arms still crossed as he waited for Julius to inevitably give in and elaborate. “She's important to Ludger, and an innocent child. After her, it'll be Ludger who suffers.”

“If Bisley doesn't get him first,” Rideaux muttered in response, deciding not to make any other comment on Julius's priorities.

“Rideaux, I know this has been tried before. Believe me, I know that. But things are different now. Ludger has allies that Spirius has never been able to turn to—Maxwell herself, for one. Jude Mathis. I've seen the things he's achieved, here _and_ in the fractured dimensions. Rowen Ilbert, he's no fool. Yes, it's true, we've never seen a dimension that had a cure—that doesn't mean there isn't one. I doubt we'll even be the first ones to have found it. But only if we _try_.”

“Should I say it again?” This time he spoke clearly, frustrated to be forced into the cowards role by Julius's uncharacteristically blind enthusiasm. “Bis-ley Ba-kur. Do you think he'll just allow this? Time is running out, and he wants Origin's Trial _done_. You think he's going to agree to putting all his efforts on hold while the DODA starts on this fools errand?”

“But I'm not _asking_ the DODA. I'm asking _you_. This has nothing to do with Bisley.”

“Oh, don't be an idiot, Julius. You want my help? That means you're asking me to go behind Bakur's back. Do you know what would happen to me if he found out? Two words.” Rideaux grimaced in distaste at the thought of _that_ impending future. “Which, thanks to your worthless brother, is looking increasingly likely _anyway_. Bisley's taken a perverse shine to him, you know.”

Julius twitched at that, but kept his expression otherwise neutrally blank. Waiting for Rideaux to buckle and break the silence; yet more typical Julius behaviour.

At times like this Rideaux hated how well they knew each other.

“What's in it for me?” He finally asked, turning away and chewing his tongue in silent petulant thought.

“You have to ask?” Julius did a good job of masking the disgust in his voice, but Rideaux knew too well that it was there. “Anything that benefits Elle benefits you too. We're talking about removing the effects of Chromatus overuse—a way to avoid becoming a catalyst. You said it yourself, Rideaux. This is something that affects both of us.”

“Mm.” Not untrue, even if he had managed to keep the physical signs at bay, at least so far. It was easier to avoid Chromatus work these days, with so many willing agents flocking to Bisley's cause, and company darling Ludger working so hard to pay his exorbitant debt. _He_ hadn't been to a fractured dimension in months. Even so... “It can't be done, Julius.”

Silence.

“It can't be done,” he repeated, turning back to negotiate the point. “And I have no reason to trust you, _or_ your ragtag group of Super Best Friends. Now that the Key is back in play and all the Waymarkers have been gathered, it's only a matter of days until Bisley's finished his preparations.”

“What about _this_ one?” Julius asked, reached into a pocket, and placed a small, gleaming device onto the table. It was spherical, a tiny ball of light surrounded by orbiting wheels of gears.

Rideaux knew a Waymarker when he saw one. He was fast, but Julius better prepared; Rideaux cursed at the heavy fist that crunched down across his knuckles when he made a darting attempt to grab the thing. “I don't think so,” Julius smiled that warning smile he had, something else about him that Rideaux knew all too well.

Withdrawing his fingers gingerly, Rideaux glowered in ill-disguised astonishment. “How did you get that?”

For once, Julius actually looked passing pleased with himself. “It isn't Ludger's fault if I took him by surprise and overpowered him, is it? With just one Waymarker missing, Bisley can't go ahead. He'll either hunt me, or try to replace it from another fractured dimension. Either way, it buys us some time.”

 _Unless **I** go and betray you right now_. Rideaux watched in more thoughtful silence as Julius pocketed the Waymarker once more, and instead pulled out a GHS. This he slid across the table for Rideaux to take. It looked to be a standard model, the sort given to just about any Spirius employee. Even Ivar had one, not that Rideaux had ever seen him use it.

“They can't track you on that,” Julius said, and Rideaux found himself grudgingly remembering that Julius was the one who had developed GHS technology. “Think about it, Rideaux, and contact me when you've made up your mind. If you want nothing to do with this then fine. I won't ask you again. And I won't ask you to keep Bisley out of it—if you say no, I'll assume you've told him everything.”

A perfectly reasonable assumption. Which did nothing to explain why it bothered Rideaux so much to hear Julius come right out and say it.

“Only an idiot would agree to this,” Rideaux sighed, swallowing down the strange feeling and nonetheless pocketing the untraceable GHS. Such a rudimentary device, much worse than his current model. Would it even take pictures? He resolved to check later.

“Just let me know.”

It was the last thing Julius said before he shuffled free from the table and stood. Rideaux watched, surprised to find himself hoping for one last sign from Julius, one last clue to explain how they'd reached this strange juncture of dangerous choices. Instead Julius nodded, turned, and marched from the room. Rideaux could hear the heavy tenor of his voice for a minute before everything went quiet outside. They'd left.

And he was still alive. Still alive, and quite a bit more knowledgeable than when the day had begun. All he had to do now was...

“ _Damn_ you, Julius,” Rideaux growled, and finally retrieved his drink.

 

-

 

That was where Ivar found him, perched on his barstool next to a drained bottle and a two glasses of melting ice.

“Uh, Mr. Director, sir?”

Now _there_ was a questioning tone. “Do you have a problem, Junior Agent?” Rideaux glanced, sharp enough to cut, and then rolled his eyes at Ivar's predictable flinch. Hopeless. “Sit down, Ivar.”

“Uh...” Was all Ivar said, again, but at least he did as he was told. The kid was old enough to drink—old enough to do anything, at least on paper—but he still gave the impression that he'd never set foot in an adult establishment in his entire mediocre life. On a different day Rideaux might have found it amusing. Now, he simply looked Ivar up and down, considering his options. Could he really trust this idiot not to give everything away?

On the other hand, would anyone ever _really_ think to question _this_ one? Rideaux thought not.

“You're an agent of Spirius,” Rideaux said, and Ivar straightened in recognition of his professional tone. _Good_. “And _I_ am the Director of the Department of Dimensional Affairs. So you do as I say. Understand?”

“Of course, sir.” If nothing else, Ivar had always been good at this part. He seemed to enjoy taking orders, frankly just a little bit too much—Maxwell most likely to blame for _that_ little quirk.

Rideaux propped one thin elbow on the bar and smiled, waiting for the precise moment where the silence had drawn on too long and Ivar had begun to squirm in discomfort before taking mercy and speaking again. “We weren't here today. You were not here. I was not here. Most importantly, Julius was not here.”

Ivar nodded, even while he seemed to be mulling the words over with whatever limited brain power he possessed. “Not here. Got it.” Then, nervously, “Are we in trouble?”

“Only if you go repeating things you shouldn't.” Looking to the bottom of his glass, and the faint dark swirls left in the ice water, Rideaux murmured, “A great deal of trouble indeed.”

 

-

 

Rideaux's apartment was, first and foremost, vastly superior to Julius's. Dazzlingly metropolitan, it was only the lack of a balcony kept it from being at the very top end of Triglyph's property market, which suited Rideaux just fine. He had no interest whatsoever in gazing out on this miserable city and its miserable inhabitants, and the less anyone else could see of _his_ privacy the happier he was. Even _Rideaux's_ ostentatiousness had a limit, and that limit was having the freedom to glower at trashy soap opera reruns from beneath an over-large duvet and not have the threat of anyone ever being able to witness it.

He'd seen this episode several times before, which was just as well, because he couldn't have paid better attention even if he'd wanted to. Instead he'd taken to flipping through the GHS that Julius had bestowed upon him, a halfway distraction from the problem at hand.

There wasn't very much of interest. Julius hadn't left him any messages, obvious _or_ concealed, and by all counts it did seem to be nothing more than a typical standard issue. Completely boring, honestly, and Rideaux might have tossed the thing away if it wasn't for the realisation that Julius _had_ taken the time to install a few apps before handing it over. The first, and easily the most important, seemed to be specifically for snapping pictures. That kept him occupied for close to an hour, first making sure to christen the device with a worthy first selfie, then taking the time to set himself an acceptable new wallpaper. It was hardly the best he'd ever looked, but considering the day he'd had Rideaux decided it looked pretty damn good. In fact, given the circumstances, he was positively enticing. Satisfied, he moved on.

Next was something far more dull, a simple map reader with a space to input co-ordinates. Standard, and particularly useful for anyone assigned to enter a fractured dimension. Rideaux flicked past it, and the next one too; a basic calender and note-taking system.

“Boring me now...” he muttered, all petulance, before stopping at the last one. It was represented as a paw – a familiar one at that, creamy white and large. Curious despite himself, Rideaux clicked.

It took a moment for him to understand what the flickering across his screen was supposed to represent. A feather, waved back and forth. Some quick experimentation soon changed the image to that of a particularly persistent insect with an annoying drone that sounded curiously like Ivar's prattling to Rideaux's ears. The final option seemed to be a mouse, darting back and forth in digital terror. A toy, then. Playtime for the fat cat, the furry lard ball who looked as though he hadn't so much as _glanced_ at prey in his short obese life.

Not for the first time, Rideaux wondered what it would be like to have other people to bestow such inane efforts upon.

“You poor, sad bastard,” he said, and made up his mind.

 

-

 

When Julius's text reply arrived, it was terse.

'Next time you have something to tell me, use words. No more snapchat.'

A second message followed the first, less than a minute later.

'Thank you.'


	2. Chapter 2

“I'm busy right now,” Rideaux snapped, flicking his GHS shut with an artful twist of the wrist. _Agents_ , always agents badgering him with the most worthless trivial things. Could they not tie their own shoelaces without him guiding them through the motions? They were embarrassing, the whole pack of them, and right now he could not possibly care less about dealing with their problems. If anything urgently required him, Vera would make sure to tell him all about it.

Relieved of whatever idle obligation the agent had been trying to foist on him, Rideaux sat back in his luxurious office chair and resumed the much more important task of... well. That was the problem, wasn't it.

Less than twelve hours after stupidly agreeing to Julius's nonsense quest, Rideaux was already running out of ideas.

“And what else did you expect?” He muttered churlishly to himself, gloved fingers tapping an impatient rhythm against the tabletop of his polished desk. What else indeed? He was trying to find a means to neutralise the effects of Chromatus overuse. Fine. Countless others had already tried the very same thing, and each attempt had ended in miserable failure. Julius might have offered up an uncharacteristic amount of optimism, but that didn't mean a great deal without any _clues_ to go along with it. He may as well have asked Rideaux to refill Lake Epsilla by hand. Maybe it _could_ be done, but without some unforeseen breakthrough it was more likely to take centuries than the weeks or days they had available.

It was an impossible task, one he never should have agreed to, and the scope of it had driven him to a fit of melancholy inaction. Rideaux Zek Rugievit was thoroughly stumped.

According to Maxwell, Julius valued his knowledge. It was a charming thought, but a fruitless one — if Julius thought Rideaux knew some detail that _he_ didn't then he was barking up entirely the wrong tree. So what, then? What was it that Julius thought _he_ could do that no one else could...?

_The first thing I have to do is limit the field_ . Rideaux narrowed his eyes in contemplation before reaching to pull a sheet of clean paper from within a desk drawer and grabbing the nearest pen. These he stared at for a few seconds before tossing the idea entirely and instead pulling out the old GHS Julius had been so kind to bestow on him. If he was going to make physical evidence, better to keep it all in one easily disposable place. Rideaux clicked open the notepad app and began typing.

To anyone outside of Spirius, the text would look like some opaque code. To anyone familiar with floor sixty-six, however...

He had just about finished his list when a familiar rap of knuckles sounded against his office door. Satisfied at finally having some forward momentum, as well as this convenient and timely arrival, Rideaux lounged back and called through a lazy admission. He was well aware of who knocked with that particular rhythm, and sure enough, here was Ivar. Even better, here was his midday coffee.

“Close the door,” He ordered when Ivar sidled in. If the command came as a surprise Ivar didn't show it—maybe he was going to be better at this conspiratorial business than Rideaux had given him credit for.

Or maybe not. As soon as he'd placed the coffee down — _lukewarm, what a delight_ — Ivar took a proud stance, setting himself directly in front of Rideaux's desk. “Director Rideaux, sir! I, Ivar, Junior Agent of Spirius, have not told a single soul about what happened yesterday.”

Perhaps it was a good thing the coffee was so poor. Otherwise he might have already taken a sip, and Ivar's stupidity would likely have made him spit it everywhere. As it was Rideaux still sputtered in a moment of unseemly horror, before regaining his wits enough to snap. “What is the _matter_ with you?” Rideaux lowered his voice to a hiss as he continued, paying no mind to the way Ivar physically jumped at his irritation. “Do you have _any_ sense? Do you have a brain at all?”

“I did as you said!” Ivar fired back defensively, arms still raised as if to protect his worthless empty head. When Rideaux continued to glare he finally lowered them, instead jabbing a thumb toward his out-thrust chest. “As former handmaiden to Lady Milla herself, I know a thing or two about keeping secrets. You can count on it!”

“If you could try knowing a thing or two about _keeping your voice down_ , that would be _wonderful_.” Rideaux finally took a mouthful of ill-sweetened coffee, a perfect complement to the dissatisfaction of having Ivar as an accomplice. _How did it come to this?_ “In fact, my little Junior Agent, why don't you make a project of it? If we're both still alive in two weeks I'll give you a passing grade.”

Ivar was stupid, but not completely oblivious. Rideaux could see the insults sinking in, and beneath that the bubbling stew of questions forming. Questions he didn't particularly feel like answering right now. Sighing, Rideaux stood.

“Listen. All I need from you — the one simple little thing? Is _blind obedience_. No questions. No comments. Nothing at all unless I say so. Is that clear?”

That wounded him too. Rideaux watched with distant amusement as the emotions rose and then sank in Ivar's eyes. The poor thing. How had he gotten this far in life believing his feelings were actually important to anyone? Even Maxwell had ditched him the first chance she got.

_That's life, kid. Get used to it._

“Loud and clear, sir,” came the answer, with only the faintest downtrodden wobble. Good.

“That's the spirit. Now, come on. I have work for you.”

 

-

 

The sixty-sixth floor of the main Spirius Corporation headquarters was just about one of Rideaux's least favourite places to be. Sprawlingly vast and miserably drab, the entire floor was dedicated to row upon row of meticulously detailed archives. Scaling ladders and digging through shelves, justifying oneself to the pompous agent-archivists left in charge? Psh. It was all well beneath his station. This was precisely the sort of work he would usually delegate. Under regular circumstances he would have done so today.

Regular circumstances. _Hah_. Now there was something he never expected to miss.

As it was, Rideaux flicked through the folder in his hands in quick assessment, teetering just slightly from his precarious ladder-topped position. Yes, this looked about right. Not as encouraging as some of the materials he'd found, but certainly worth taking along. With a satisfied hum of approval, he tucked the folder under one arm and slid down the ladder with now practised ease.

“And...” Rideaux paused his announcement, casting a dour eye over the wavering stack of papers Ivar had become. Hm. “Let's just start with these, shall we?”

With a sweet smile he placed File 47B-F1412 delicately atop the pile. At first Ivar had tried to offer hints of his discomfort. After that he'd begun to openly complain. Now it seemed like all he could manage was a dismayed grunt. Rideaux found he much preferred it this way. “Come along, we're heading back.”

With a sad sound that must have been an affirmative, Ivar followed.

Strolling through the steel grey aisles, Rideaux couldn't decide if he was feeling nostalgic or just plain _old._ There were hundreds of files here — thousands, really — and far too many of them contained his own handwriting. Some were close to fifteen years old, time when someone had decided he and Julius were old enough to write their own documentation instead of simply passing the details off for someone else to organise.

Back then he'd been deeply resentful of Julius's stiff blockish handwriting. His own had barely been legible by contrast, an all-too-obvious sign that he'd begun reading and writing far later than most of those working for Spirius. Not too surprising, really. That was the difference between people like him and those born with silver spoons in their mouths. _All_ _ **I**_ _got was a pocketwatch and a world of trouble._

At least typing had come much easier — he'd caught up in _that_ field with only the most basic of tutelage. But back then, when he was cursing and sweating over some written report or another, it had been Julius who...

_Hmph_. Now he really _was_ being nostalgic, and in all the wrong ways. It didn't matter any more — in fact, it never had.

Even so, when it came time to check themselves out of the archive, Rideaux took pleasure in signing his name with particular flourish. Yet another aspect of his past neatly left to rot. Quickly scribbling a similar note under Ivar's name, Ivar being too laden to do so himself, Rideaux was feeling quite pleased with himself when the inevitable trouble began.

“Director Rideaux, sir. You do realise that you can only check out four reports at any given time. Don't you?”

_Oh **good**._ Why couldn't something go right for once?

Rideaux looked first to the man questioning him — an agent-archivist thirty-something with hair already thinning — and then to Ivar, still struggling beneath the weight of what was clearly far too many documents. No, he hadn't realised that. He'd never had reason to do this. Rideaux smiled.

“Actually, this is only some of what I'll be taking today. I'll be back to collect the rest shortly.” Ignoring the groan of dismay Ivar issued from somewhere behind the pile, Rideaux's smile thinned to an edge. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Spirius didn't have many dedicated archivists. Floor sixty-six was loaded with classified information, and that meant only those already involved with the Kresnik Clan would be admitted here in the first place. There were very few exceptions this far up the building. What that unfortunately meant was any injured or otherwise incapacitated field agents found themselves relegated to archive work, a downgrade that tended to make them rather... surly.

The agent-archivist gave them a sour look, looking rather like he was sucking a sea urchin. “With all respect, sir, I'm afraid I can't authorise that.”

_Oh, the many-fold privileges of being Director._ “And what would happen if I were to, say, simply do it  _anyway_ ?”

“That...” The agent-archivist frowned, sweeping his gaze back and forth as though expecting some miraculous assistance to appear at any moment. Rideaux simply waited, smile still in place, quite practised in the art of being at once genial and threatening. Sweat was beginning to bead on the poor archivists brow, but to Rideaux's vast annoyance the man sat up straighter and puffed out his chest with indignant pride. “I'm sorry, sir. If you were to do that I would have to report you.”

And who else could you report to about the Director of the DODA breaching protocol except Bisley himself?  _Damn it all_ .

Almost as though he were reading Rideaux's mind, the agent-archivist hurriedly added, “Unless you were to obtain special permissions, of course.”

“Of course.” And what explanation would he offer Bakur when asking for such permissions? _Yes, Mr. President, I just need to borrow these documents so I can do some research for Julius. Yes, that's right, wanted terrorist Julius Will Kresnik, the man you set up. The one who, by the way, just stole a Waymarker and scuppered your plans, did you hear about that yet? Sorry for not mentioning all this sooner, I was a little anxious you might **murder me**._

Wonderful.

“Ivar, we're done here.” Rideaux snapped his fingers, turning away from the agent-archivist and instead back to his swaying assistant. “You can leave those where they are.”

“Right here? I don't have to put them back?” Somehow Ivar managed to peer around the teetering stack, eyes gleaming with kindled hope.

“Right here is just fine,” Rideaux cooed indulgently, brightly ignoring the alarmed protests of their overzealous new friend. Even petty revenge had its merits. Waving a cheerful goodbye Rideaux ushered Ivar around the pile of discarded folders and out of the cavernous room, not the least bit sorry for the bureaucratic headache they'd left in their wake.

Not until they'd crossed the hallway and safely entered the elevator did Rideaux allow himself to vent an infuriated sigh. Ivar edged to the other side of the confined space and, for once, had the sense to keep his mouth shut.

That was a lot of useful knowledge they'd gathered together, and they'd left it all behind. Worse still, that interfering busybody of an archivist might very well decide to notify Bisley _anyway_ , which meant he had to string together some flimsy justification. Yet more work on top of everything else.

Frustrated, Rideaux forced himself to consider the options. First, and most important: he _needed_ that information, and soon. Yes he could obey the rules, book the documentation out four pieces at a time and make individual copies to work from. It might take him a month, perhaps three weeks. And in the mean time little Elle would become some fractured puff of nothingness.

Somehow he couldn't imagine Julius agreeing to that course of action.

So what else. Take pictures, store them on his GHS? Maybe for a few, but it would be a nightmare to work from. He needed hard copies, ones he could highlight and cross-reference and and compile into something tangible, something that would help him figure out an _answer_.

There was no way around it. He needed those files.

… Or ones very much like them. So.

“Marvellous,” Rideaux muttered, rolled his eyes, and pulled out the GHS.

 

-

 

When they reached his office a few minutes later, Vera was standing at the door. Rideaux, spotting her far too late to avoid contact, nonetheless slowed his impatient pace to a more leisurely stroll, buying himself a precious few milliseconds to think and compose himself.

“Director Rideaux.” She turned to face him as he approached, clipboard tucked across her body in a familiar pose. Rideaux came to a gentle halt before her—Ivar, the moron, jolted to an abrupt and terrified halt. Seemingly unperturbed, she continued. “President Bakur would like to see you immediately.”

Vera, Bisley's personal secretary. She didn't seem the sort to report every veiled hint of gossip that passed her by, and that was precisely why Bakur liked her. Mind still racing, Rideaux eased himself into an expression of faux-indolence. That was what she'd expect from him, after all. “Does he now? Tell our Mr. President that I'll be right along.”

“Don't keep him waiting,” She replied in that clipped voice of hers. “It's a matter of some importance.”

With that she turned on one smartly dressed heel and walked away, the professional tap of her shoes beating out the rhythm of her departure. Ivar watched with an expression of deep dismay. “ _Crap_ ,” He winced, at least keeping his voice low. “Now we're in for it. We shouldn't have left that mess there.” With a hint of reproach he added, “I did warn you, sir.”

“First, don't group me in with you. Second, you did no such thing, boy.” And third, Bisley Bakur had bigger fish to fry, and it was too soon to be related to their little archive adventure anyway. Rideaux wiped one gloved hand over his face and tried very hard not to swear, suddenly extremely reluctant to make a move.

Last night he had agreed to this farce. Today he'd even made some cursory efforts to keep his word. Now, once and for all, he was going to have to commit.

Or not.

“Get in here,” He snapped, motioning Ivar ahead of him and firmly shutting the office door once they were both within. When was the last time he'd had to think so fast? Rideaux brought a hand to his chin, tapping a finger against his cheek as he paced back and forth, a sudden flurry of contemplative motion. Ivar watched, eyes wide with that same dismay from before.

“We are in trouble. I knew it.”

“I already told you, don't group yourself in with me.” _You'll have a much better chance of surviving that way_. Not that he was about to say such a thing out loud. The last thing he needed was for Ivar to misunderstand and, ugh, think Rideaux actually _cared_. “Shut up and come here.”

Ivar shuffled closer, clearly assuming the worst. “I'll be back for to collect this later, unless things go poorly for me. Which they very well might. If so...” Rideaux reached into his blazer pocket, pulled out the untraceable GHS and pressed it into Ivar's palm. “Destroy this. Forget you ever saw it.”

“Got it.” Ivar gave a resolute nod before stashing the GHS somewhere in the folds of that ridiculous sash he wore at his waist. It wasn't the most satisfactory means of concealing evidence, but it was all he had available. Rideaux nodded, and was just about to leave when Ivar spoke up again. “How do I know when to ditch it?”

“ _Destroy_ it, I said. And use your best judgement.” _It can't possibly be any worse than mine_. With one last silent curse to whatever unlucky star he was born under, Rideaux stepped through the door and made his way to the office of President Bisley Bakur.


	3. Chapter 3

Only one person could be contacting him on this line. Flicking the GHS to loudspeaker, Rideaux clicked to accept the call and then tossed the GHS to one side of his faux-leather couch. “You,” he growled, loud enough to be heard, “Have no idea what I've been through today.”

Not the most conventional means of communication, but it was all Julius deserved from him. Rideaux lounged back on the opposite side of the couch, long legs crossed and propped comfortably on the low coffee table. Perhaps resting his heels on the surface was ill-advised, but right then it was very hard to care.

He'd been home for less than an hour—long enough to shed his jacket, gloves and boa, and long enough to make arrangements for dinner, little enough time for anything else. A shower would have been the next step, followed by fixing himself something hard to drink. Instead he had Julius to deal with.

“Is that right?” Came the distinctly unconcerned reply, Julius's voice slightly muffled against a cushion. Rideaux glowered at where the GHS had landed before reluctantly leaning over and placing it face up on the coffee table. Next to his feet, right where Julius belonged.

“Yes, it is. Thank you _so_ much for getting me mixed up in this.” It was probably a good thing they were having this conversation remotely—the urge to punch Julius's face was almost overwhelming. “If I die before you do, I will make your life _miserable_ , Julius. I will haunt you for the rest of your days.”

“You, making me miserable? Doesn't sound like much of a change to me.”

Scratch that. The urge to punch Julius's stupid face was _thoroughly_ overwhelming.

Rideaux took a long moment to compose himself, unwilling to give Julius the satisfaction of hearing just how unstrung he was. After a few deep breaths he allowed himself to speak. “What a funny man you are. You and Ivar should start a troupe. My two favourite comedians.” Sharper, he continued. “Let me say it again. You have no idea what I've been through today. You think this is difficult for you, but _I'm_ the one who has to field Bakur's questions. Who do you think this is all going to come down on when things go south? Me, that's who.”

It was difficult to tell Julius's reaction from the faintly static silence. Rideaux found himself remembering that first recorded message Julius left him— _was that really only yesterday?_ —and listened closer for any hint of just where Julius might be. A rural area, judging from the lack of civilised noise. Somewhere in Rieze Maxia? It was impossible to be sure.

“You're right,” Julius finally responded, in a voice touched by something that sounded suspiciously like concern. Rideaux sat up a little straighter, staring at the GHS as though trying to identify an imposter. “I'm sorry, Rideaux. I wasn't trying to endanger you. Tell me what happened today.”

Under different circumstances Rideaux might have resented Julius telling him what to do. So dumbfounded to have received an apology at all, much less one that sounded _sincere_ , Rideaux instead counted himself grateful for such a convenient and pressing distraction. He took a moment to clear his throat and regain some much needed composure.

“Bakur is what happened today.” Settling into comfort once more, Rideaux hitched one arm over the back of the couch and rested the other casually across his lap. Home, safe, talking to Julius—he was finally starting to relax. “Bisley had a few choice words for me, as I'm sure you can imagine. The prodigal son was there too.”

There was a pregnant pause.

“Are you talking about Ludger?” Julius practically growled the question, voice low and rough around the edges. Whatever relative of concern had lingered in his voice before was amplified tenfold now, a mean edge grafted to his tone. Rideaux sneered, rolled his eyes and waved a rude gesture in the direction of Julius's irritating voice. Trust Julius to put things right back into perspective.

And to think he'd almost felt valued for a second there. More fool him.

“Yes, I'm talking about Ludger.” Rideaux took a long moment to draw his breath, taking private pleasure in making Julius wait. “Give him a few more years under Spirius and I think he'll be quite the accomplished little liar. He was hardly suspicious at all. I don't think Bisley noticed anything. Then again no one has a poker face quite like our dear President, so who can possibly say? I suppose we'll find out soon enough.”

This time Julius's response was muffled. “That's not the life I want for him.”

“Well, too bad. Now shut up and let me tell you what happened.”

Mercifully, Julius did as told.

“Ludger was already there when I arrived. If you want to know what Bisley said to him you'll have to call him and ask, but as far as I can tell they mostly discussed you.” Rideaux caught himself smirking. “I can't imagine it was a great deal of fun trying to explain how you'd stolen one of the Waymarkers. Still think this was such a good idea?”

“Get on with it.”

_Hah._

“Bisley's splitting our resources into two camps. Ludger is to carry on doing whatever it is he's been doing to pay off that dreadful debt of his.” Even through the GHS Rideaux could feel the anger emanating from Julius at _that_ little reminder, and twisted his smirk deeper. “Any fractured dimensions that are discovered will be issued straight to Ludger to deal with. Obviously locating a replacement Waymarker is the highest priority for that division.”

Twisting a lock of his hair, Rideaux continued. “The rest of us will be searching for you. To put that another way,  _I've_ been placed in charge of your personal manhunt.” Inspiration struck. “You should really tell me where it is you're hiding. Wouldn't want to follow the correct trail by mistake, after all.”

“I'll tell you when I decide you need to know.” Julius's voice was still icy, though Rideaux could hear the weight of consideration behind his words. “Where was Elle?”

“I don't know.” In truth he hadn't given it a second thought. “Ludger didn't seem concerned about her absence. I imagine he left her with his little friends. Probably didn't want Bisley asking questions about her little divergence problem.”

“Hm.” A non-committal sound, and one Rideaux took as agreement.

“Bisley's not happy about this, Julius.” The crux of the matter. Rideaux sat forward, arms crossing upon his knees and gaze fixed on the GHS. “He's very... let's say, _disappointed_ in you, and not much happier with me. Lucky little Ludger gets a free pass because he's so convenient, but you and I? If our days weren't _already_ numbered I think it would be fair to say this little stunt of yours has sealed the deal.”

“Unless you turn me in,” Julius mused in response.

“Correct. You really shouldn't put treacherous ideas into my head—I might just be tempted to act on them.” Rideaux would have continued with some further retort had the intercom not buzzed. Instead, delighted, he rose to his feet. “Ah! Dinner has arrived.”

“ _Dinner_?” Julius couldn't have sounded more affronted; Rideaux's grin broadened. “Are you— have you _ordered food? Now_?”

“I have. That's just _one_ of the privileges of not being a wanted terrorist, you know. Now be quiet for a few minutes, unless you _want_ someone to overhear you.”

For the second time in quick succession, Julius did as he was told. Rideaux found he was starting to enjoy this very much, and took his time about crossing to the intercom and granting access for the food to be brought up. Time passed in tender silence—Rideaux leaned back against the doorframe and wondered just what sort of lowly fare Julius had been reduced to eating in these past weeks. Perhaps he'd taken to hunting his own meals? Just the thought was enough to have him suppressing laughter.

Then again, maybe Julius had been hiding across fractured dimensions. Depending on just how wily he was willing to be, Julius might have been living very comfortably that way, making himself welcome in some backwards dimension before destroying it and moving on to another. It would certainly be the perfect way to cover his tracks. Silently Rideaux tucked that particular thought away for future reference.

Then his food arrived, delivered by an awestruck looking teenager who had clearly never seen such wealth in his short life. Rideaux tipped generously, mostly for the sheer pleasure of being able to afford doing so. Only after the boy had disappeared back into the elevator, bright-eyed and reeling, did Rideaux shut the door and return to his grudging audience of one.

“I'm not going to listen to you eat,” Julius immediately snapped, with much more impatience than Rideaux had expected. If he'd realised this was going to ruffle Julius's feathers so much he would have ordered a whole banquet.

“Well I'm not going to wait, so you had best finish this conversation quickly, hadn't you?” Rideaux punctuated the point by audibly snapping open the container. “I have sushi, by the way. In case you were wondering.”

“You had _sushi_ delivered? That sounds disgusting.”

“No one asked your opinion. And you're wrong. _And,_ most importantly, I deserve it.” Rideaux popped a salmon roll into his mouth, then continued speaking around the mouthful of rice and fish. “Anyway. As entertaining as all this Bisley talk is, I had a different reason for contacting you earlier.”

He could almost hear Julius's teeth grinding irritation at the sounds of him eating. For once, Rideaux could entirely understand his frustration—bad table manners really _were_ inexcusable. But for the sake of annoying Julius? It was a social sacrifice he was willing to make.

“You see,” Rideaux continued, “There's a little something I _need_.”

 

-

 

Two days later, Rideaux found himself standing within a copse of barren trees on the outskirts of the Helioborg Research Station, desperately trying to stay warm. Of all the days for there to be a cold spike, it had to be _this_ one. Rideaux ducked his chin lower, trying to seek warmth in the fur of his scarf while somehow maintaining his personal dignity.

It wasn't working.

He'd received the message almost two hours ago, detailing co-ordinates of where to meet and confirming they wouldn't have long if they wanted to make this work. That had given Rideaux enough time to feed Ivar a good cover story, have him repeat it five times, and make his way over here. The first to arrive, naturally. Typical Julius to keep him waiting, and typical Ludger not to show up anywhere his precious big brother hadn't been first.

There were monsters about, all the typical creatures one would expect to be roaming around this close to civilisation. None of them would prove a threat to him, but an attack would certainly be annoying. Rideaux took a moment to feel inside his jacket, fingers running with bitter familiarity over the watch he stowed there. He didn't like to use his Chromatus unless he had to, but some part of him _did_ enjoy the idea that his watch exuded a certain something that kept wiser beasts at bay. Of course, the Holy Bottle he'd been sure to douse under a splash of expensive cologne was probably helping as well.

Now he just had to avoid _freezing_ to death. Why anyone would ever be willing to leave the populated regions of Elympios was entirely beyond him. Never even mind the lunatics choosing to cross at Marksburg and start new lives in that technological backwater Rieze Maxia. People could be such idiots.

And speaking of... Rideaux straightened at the approach of Ludger and a handful of his jolly companions, making a conscious effort to suppress the shivers that threatened to overwhelm him. Ludger himself, little Elle and dopey Rollo, the reporter girl, Jude Mathis, and...

“Yo,” the businessman drawled in lazy greeting, one hand cocked in some vague simile of a salute. The girl waved, smiling bright enthusiasm. Ludger looked rather less pleased to see him, and Elle was wearing what had become a customary glower. Her eyes were red-rimmed, Rideaux noticed—either she wasn't sleeping, or something had been making her cry. Maybe both. Children could be such a hassle.

“Hello, Rideaux,” was of course Jude's greeting, and Rideaux couldn't help but smile to hear the respectful tone. Oh, no doubt it was completely insincere, but it was amusing to watch them try to pretend they didn't hate him.

“Good morning, Dr. Mathis,” Rideaux returned, making no effort whatsoever to keep the sarcasm from his own voice. “How lovely it is to see you all again. Isn't it nice when we can meet out in the open like this? Much better than, oh, say... tricking me into meeting you unarmed and then surrounding me. Don't you think?”

Only Miss Reporter had the decency to look at all ashamed. “Yeaaah, um... sorry about that?” Then she thrust a hand in his direction, pushing forward with an overload of cheery enthusiasm. “I don't think I've ever introduced myself. You're Mr. Rideaux, Director of the Department of Dimensional Affairs, and _I'm_ Leia Rolando, junior reporter for the Daily Trigleph. Maybe we could arrange a special interview sometime?”

The businessman scoffed under his breath. “Anything to get the next big scoop, huh?”

“Alvin, shh!” She hissed back, smile somehow never wavering. Rideaux stared in sterile distaste for a long moment... but demeaned himself long enough to shake her hand. Assuming he somehow survived all this, an interview about his recent promotion would at least be an entertaining afternoon. His silly little fanclub would be delighted.

Then he straightened, glancing around the group. If introductions were going to be the order of the day, then it was time to do so on his own terms.

“So, Leia. And you...” Rideaux turned his smiling gaze to the man who'd just spoken. “You're a Svent. I've heard of you _,_ you know. I used to have quite a few contacts in Exodus, back in the day.” _And still do, not that you need to know it._

Alvin's expression had, to Rideaux's pleasure, hardened considerably. Even so, he managed to respond with the same flippancy as before, still maintaining his greasy smile. “Is that right? Maybe those contacts told you I'm on the straight and narrow now. Hope you're not disappointed.”

“Oh, not at all. They're a bunch of clowns. You're better off without them.” All entirely true. This time Alvin's expression remained steady. A shame—Rideaux would have liked more to work with. _Oh well._ “So you're Alvin. Or Alfred, according to some. That's terribly confusing, you know.” Rideaux mustered his sweetest smile and took a stab in the dark. “I'll just call you Al.”

Something about _that_ hit a nerve. Alvin's brow knotted immediately—Leia's hands shot up to cover her mouth, and even Jude looked taken aback. Only Ludger and Elle seemed oblivious to whatever implication the other three had pulled from such a statement. Rideaux gave himself an internal round of applause—years of competition with Julius had given him good instincts on just what _not_ to say, and it seemed like he'd struck gold yet again.

But then, unexpectedly, Alvin smiled, running a hand through his hair in a gesture of affected embarrassment. “Well well, I didn't realise we were on nickname terms already. You move fast, Riddles.”

Unprepared, Rideaux found himself stuck in a moment of frozen disgust. He stared, aghast.

“Riddles!” Leia exclaimed, grinning from ear to ear. Even red-eyed Elle was cracking a smile. “That's so good!”

“It is _not—_ ” Rideaux attempted to interject, but too late to stop the two girls from catching one another’s eye and breaking into peels of childish laughter. Alvin Svent, the cocky little weasel, was looking awfully pleased with himself, and Ludger, watching Elle, looked equally thrilled.

If it had been in Rideaux's power to spit poison, he would have. Instead he turned a patronising eye to Jude, who looked as though he wanted to speak.

Sure enough, with an apologetic wince; “He prefers to go by Alvin.”

“Duly noted.”

The damn idiots still hadn't stopped laughing when Ludger suddenly looked around, some disgusting brotherly sixth sense alerting him before anyone else. “Julius,” was all he said.

Sure enough, approaching through the thin withered trees, was Julius. Rideaux folded his arms—at least partly for the additional warmth it offered—and watched him with a critical eye.

Not that there was much to see. Julius conducted himself with typical stoic grace, striding through the undergrowth as though he were attending some very high-minded company picnic. If his own catalyst issue was causing him any difficulty then he certainly wasn't showing it—trying to spare Ludger's delicate feelings, no doubt. Rideaux frowned, not sure whether to be impressed or infuriated. Just how far gone was he? And was he still using his Chromatus?

_He's going to today. He won't have a choice._

For some unfathomable reason the thought made Rideaux uncomfortable.

“I'm glad to see you're all getting along so well,” Julius said as he reached them, pulling smiles from almost everyone present. Rideaux made sure to huff disapproval, not willing to go unheard in the crowd. Naturally, Julius ignored him. “Sorry if I kept you waiting.”

“Are you okay?” Ludger replied, his voice caught between concerned and wary. Rideaux stepped back for a moment, not particularly interested in the finer details of cloying brotherly love, and listened peripherally to their exchange. For every question Ludger asked, Julius had some kind of placating non-answer to give—Rideaux rolled his eyes at the transparency of it all, and even little Elle didn't look impressed.

The fact that she was even here came as something of a surprise. Rideaux, still politely waiting for the family politics to subside, found himself staring at her. There was something bothering him, something that had been bothering him for a while now. Something he couldn't put his finger on. Looking at her here, with that sprawling darkened patch of skin inching out from beneath her collar, he found himself thinking back...

“ _Rideaux_.”

Julius's stern voice cut across his thoughts, drawing him out of his reverie of contemplation. Irritated, Rideaux unfolded his arms and mimicked Julius's tone. “ _What_?”

The dull annoyance on Julius's face suggested he had no interest in repeating whatever it was he'd just said. Ever the peacekeeper, Jude Mathis stepped forward and picked up the thread of conversation. “Julius was hoping you could explain the plan to us. What is it you need us to do?”

Finally, a chance to make these ingrates listen to  _him_ . Rideaux smiled, sketching a light bow in the direction of their assembled group. “Of course. 'The plan'. Listen closely, my dear idiots. I don't want to have to explain this twice.”

Ignoring the glower Julius gave at that, Rideaux began.

“There are some documents I need from the Spirius archives. I have a list here of exactly which ones, and don't skip any if you value the girl's life.” He passed a sheet of paper across to Jude, then settled into a terse explanation of the rules governing Spirius Corporation's sixty-sixth floor, specifically the four document rule. “So as you can see, I'm unable to collect them myself without drawing unwanted attention. That's where you all come in.”

Rideaux graced Ludger with a smile. “Actually, _you're_ the important player in today’s little game. First, we enter the fractured dimension. Once there, Julius and I will kindly eliminate the divergence catalyst. The rest of you will be assisting our Key of Kresnik here in entering Spirius and retrieving my list of items to bring back here. Once both tasks are complete we'll stage a little rendezvous, exchange goods, and go our respective ways. Simple but brilliant.”

“The Key?” Blurted a young startled voice. Rideaux raised one quizzical brow at Elle. She in turn stared around at the assembled adults like a cornered alley rat, eyes nervous and wide.

“He means Ludger,” Julius replied gently. Rideaux narrowed his eyes, watching the protective interplay of Ludger placing a protective hand on her shoulder, giving a soft reassuring squeeze.

_Of course I mean Ludger. Has the girl not been paying **any** attention until now?_

Except no, that wasn't it. Julius had been weird about this too, when he'd first explained this plan over GHS. Something else was going on here. That frustrated feeling was back, the sense he was missing something terribly obvious.

Julius was  _ definitely  _ keeping something from him.

“Once we enter the fractured dimension, Rideaux and I will take your GHS along with us,” Julius continued, speaking directly to Ludger. “That way, anyone at Spirius using it to track your movements will only see that you're doing your job, hunting and eliminating the catalyst. _Your_ task is still dangerous, though; perhaps even more dangerous than ours. Keep your wits about you. Use espionage if you can—don't try to make this a fight. Walk in, gather the documents, and smuggle them out.”

“Easier said than done,” Alvin said, running a hand through his hair with a shrug. “Do you think they'll even let us all in? Ludger maybe, but the rest of us kind of stick out in a crowd.”

“We'll find a way.” Ludger's voice was firm, and once again Rideaux found himself grimacing at the familiar hint of Julius that sometimes swam up in Ludger's eyes. Revolted, he shifted his weight and nodded in Elle's direction, determined not to let this confusing mystery go unchallenged.

“Explain something to me. Why are you bringing her along? I thought the whole point of this little exercise was to prevent her becoming a catalyst. Why, then, continue exposing her to danger? Are you _really_ unable to access the power of your Chromatus without channelling it through her? How pitiful.”

It was Ludger he'd been speaking to, and Julius he expected a response from. Instead Elle stamped forward, planting herself squarely in front of him and glaring up with all the petulant fire an eight-year-old could possibly muster. “Nobody asked for your opinion, Riddles.”

_ Alvin Svent, I am going to murder you in your sleep. _ No, that would be too  _ kind _ an end. He'd have to devise something much more meticulous and excruciating. Rideaux folded his knees, crouching almost into the dirt to bring himself level with the little eyesore of a child.

“My dear girl, as your designated medical professional I do believe you should adhere to my advice.” Her lower lip still jutted out in childish bravado, but Rideaux felt the satisfied glow of knowing his words had confused her. He smiled serenely. “Was that too much? In simple terms, I'm your doctor and you are very, very sick. Go home, if you even have one.”

She punched him. She  _ punched _ him, her tiny grubby fingers balled into an ineffectual fist, and Rideaux was so astonished that he very nearly lost his balance in an undignified flurry of windmilling arms. At the last moment he caught himself, and by then Elle had burst into bawling sobs and thrown herself into Ludger's protective embrace. If she thought  _ that _ was going to save her from his wrath then— Rideaux begun to rise, lip curled into a retaliatory snarl, then jolted to a forced halt. Julius gripped his upper arm tightly, tugging him back to his feet in a gesture half assistance and half restraint.

“You really are impossible, you know that?” Julius hissed at him, voice low enough to keep the sentiment private.

“Oh darling, you flatter me,” Rideaux cooed in turn, smirking at Julius's disgust, before raising his voice and bowing his head in faux-apology. “Clearly I spoke out of turn. Forgive me.”

Ludger merely glared. Elle didn't respond at all, face still buried in Ludger's accommodating shoulder, and even Miss Optimism and Mathis Jr. didn't seem willing to give him any leeway.  _ Always so popular, aren't we? _

Touching gloved fingers to the faintly warm spot where Elle had struck him, Rideaux considered what it was he must have said to anger her, and smiled. “So you're an orphan, is that it? Don't be so sad. Plenty of us turn out just fine. Look at precious Ludger, for example. He counts—right, Julius?”

_ Now _ he was treading on thin ice—the way Julius's fingers tightened around his arm was proof enough of that. Rideaux smirked despite the discomfort, but ducked his head further and kept his mouth shut. Whatever this terribly amusing drama with Elle was all about, it didn't  _ really  _ interest him. Ludger, distracted by Elle and dumb as a post at the best of times, didn't seem to catch the hint regardless.  _ Oh Julius, you really are blessed to have such an idiot for a brother _ .

In the end it was Leia who managed to calm Elle down, and not in a manner Rideaux appreciated.

“You've wanted to do that for a long time, huh?” She asked, gently turning Elle to face her and offering a sunny, sympathetic smile. Runny nosed and miserable, Elle nonetheless managed a tentative little smirk as she nodded.

“Uh-huh. I hope he has to wear the stupid glasses again.”

_ Not much chance of that, brat _ , Rideaux privately grated, but settled for crossing his arms. A feat not made any easier by Julius's insistence on keeping a firm grip on him.

With a saddened hiccup and a look of limitless concern, Elle quietly added, “Daddy always said I shouldn't hit people.”

“I think he'd understand, just this once.” Leia gave a sage nod, one immediately echoed by the rest of the group. Even the damn cat followed her lead. Not for the first time, Rideaux found himself seriously considering the merits of just killing them all where they stood.

Instead he growled. “Now that we're all agreed that I'm an acceptable punching bag, shall we get on with this?”

Apparently Julius agreed with his desire to press on. “We'll give your group a head start,” He told Ludger, in his usual domineering DODA Director voice.  _ Miss it, huh, Julius? _ “Once you reach Triglyph send us a message and we'll begin the hunt for the catalyst. Then, once you're finished, let us know and we'll eliminate it, bringing us all back to the prime dimension. We'll meet back here. Ludger, if you have  _ any _ trouble, contact me immediately. Rideaux, give him the GHS I gave you.”

Already irritable, Rideaux had hardly been paying attention up to that point. Rudely jerked out of his moody daydreaming, he glared in open-mouthed displeasure for a long moment before snapping, “No. Let them take yours. This is mine.” And then, more petulantly than he'd intended, “You  _ gave _ it to me. You don't take back gifts, Julius. That's basic etiquette. You can be such a boor.”

“Uh oh,” Alvin leered, “Trouble in paradise?”

Rideaux had had about as much of  _ Al _ as he could stand. Furious, he snatched the GHS from his pocket and threw it to Jude. Well, more like threw it  _ at _ him, with quite a bit more  _ oomph _ than required; annoyingly, Mathis still caught it with comfortable ease.  _ Oh, right, he's a martial artist. I'll aim for the damned cat next time. _

Satisfied and with his typical unflappable air, Julius nodded. “Ludger, give me yours, and use  _ that _ GHS if you need to contact us. This way, all our contact will be untraceable.”

“Mm.” Ludger stepped forward and did as Julius said, ever the obedient baby brother. Rideaux was about to comment such when Ludger unexpectedly looked at him, something grim and formal in his eyes. Quietly surprised by the expression, Rideaux stood taller and tilted his head in admittance, letting Ludger speak. “It's none of your business why Elle goes where she does,” Ludger's voice was cold, firm and unyielding. “But I'll tell you anyway. She's my partner. She's my partner now, and for as long as she wants to be. We made a promise.”

Yet more personal drama. Rideaux merely shrugged and smiled bland acceptance, well aware the words weren't being spoken for  _ his  _ sake. Sure enough little Elle rubbed her raw tearful eyes again, but looked up at Ludger when he returned to her side and managed another tentative smile. 

_Tch. Morons._

“Are we already ready?” Jude asked, pulling the group back into the present with a murmured buzz of affirmatives. Ludger stepped forward, pocketwatch in hand, preparing to transport them.

“My very first adventure with the do-gooders,” Rideaux spoke softly, for Julius's ears only. “Do I get a gold star for playing nicely with the other children?”

“Just try not to make anyone else cry today.” Julius shot him a sideways look, just the very faintest spark of sarcastic mirth glinting behind his dark frames. “I believe in you.”

“Of course you do,” Rideaux smirked back. And then, sudden and sharp, they were gone.


	4. Chapter 4

In theory, giving Ludger and company a generous head start had made plenty of sense. In practice, Rideaux found it was leaving him with far too much time to stand around shivering and thinking. The experience was proving unpleasantly nostalgic.

How many years had it been since he and Julius had last entered a fractured dimension together? A great many, that was certainly true. Closer to ten than five, although Rideaux found he couldn't recall exactly. By that point they'd all but given up working together, instead competing constantly for the dubious honour of Bisley's approval. Julius had proven himself ruthlessly pragmatic, willing to raze whole towns rather than take the time to seek out each individual divergence catalyst. Rideaux had proven himself ruthless in other ways, furthering the distance between them.

Julius's methods had always struck him as inelegant, witless and ugly in their wholesale destruction. Julius, in turn, had accused him of enjoying the process too much, taking too much pleasure in hunting and eliminating one particular target. It wasn't an accusation Rideaux had ever made much effort to deny. If Julius wanted to play the part of the rampaging beast then that was fine with him—he much preferred the more delicate violence that existed between predator and prey.

Which would it be today? Rideaux considered... and then shuddered, as another particularly cold gust of wind picked up. If he had to stand out here much longer it wouldn't _matter_ what they chose to do. He was going to freeze to death. Why was this fractured dimension just as miserably cold as the prime? No, if anything, it seemed even _colder_. Rideaux cast a covert glance at Julius—implacable as always, damn him—before thrusting his hands into the crooks of his elbows and stamping his feet in an attempt to stay warm.

After a few minutes, Julius sighed and stepped forward. “Come on. Let's get going.”

Rideaux stopped shifting, turning to frown at this sudden call to action. “No, that isn't the plan. Do you _remember_ the plan? We're supposed to wait here until Ludger and the others arrive in Triglyph. They're going to contact you via GHS.” _**My** GHS_, he added in petulant silence. _Remember? The one you gave **me**?_

“I know. But I'm tired of watching you freeze. We'll get started now.” Julius walked passed him, the ghost of a taunting smile playing on his lips as he set out toward the Helioborg Research Station. “At least this way you won't die of hypothermia before we get anywhere.”

Trust Julius to not only notice his shortcomings but to openly point them out. The man had no tact at all. Rideaux bared his teeth in a daggered smile, and tried fruitlessly to ignore the self-conscious spots of colour that insisted on rising in his cheeks. _Damn_ Julius.

-

Helioborg Research Station proved to be much the same in this dimension as in the prime. Rideaux gazed up at the eyesore with plain distaste.

Even amidst the dying scenery of Elympios it managed to appear repulsive, jutting out of the wasteland like some putrid geometric fungus. That the building had long since been converted into a scientific research institute did nothing to improve the grim military aesthetic—on the contrary, the mixture of armoured grunts and labcoated intellectuals meandering to-and-fro only heightened the sense of discord.

But, alas, Julius was right. The divergence in this dimension registered as very low—the catalyst had to be somewhere close by, and that meant consulting the local population.

The front entrance was open but guarded, a pair of lance-bearing soldiers standing side-by-side between the imposing metal gates. To call them tense seemed an overstatement, but there was a certain nervousness about the way they straightened to attention and levelled their weapons when he and Julius approached. _Our first clue, I would say._

“Leave this to me,” Julius muttered from the corner of his mouth—Rideaux was just about to sneer disagreement when one of the soldiers spoke up.

“State your business!”

“We're here on behalf of Spirius Corporation.” Julius responded, voice carrying with casually practised authority. Rideaux repressed the desire to roll his eyes. “Earlier this morning our headquarters received a transmission from your facility expressing a need for support concerning an 'urgent matter'. We've been dispatched to assist. Could either of you direct us to whoever might be in charge?”

The two men looked at one another for a silent moment—Rideaux held his breath, waiting to see if the ploy would work—before lowering their weapons. The one who'd first spoken jerked his head to the side, an invitation to enter. “It's about time someone did something. Come on in. Ask for Doctor Kline, she'll show you around.”

“Thank you,” Julius replied, motioned lightly for Rideaux to follow, and marched through the gates without so much as a hint that he didn't belong. Rideaux watched him, and contemplated how one man managed to be so incredibly stupid and so eminently capable at the same time. It truly was a mystery.

He was just following, a few steps behind, when he noticed the second guard looking at him. Even through the heavy metal visor that covered the man's face Rideaux thought he could detect a twinkle of amusement. He paused, and tilted his head in askance. “Can I help you?”

“Did they really only send the two of you?” This soldier was younger than his counterpart, at least from the unpleasantly nasal sound of his voice. “I reckon you'll have trouble by yourselves.”

Rideaux sharpened his smile.

“Do you now? It's a good thing no one pays you to have an opinion.” He bowed, watching the man process his response and suddenly straighten in belatedly indignity. “Don't worry,” Rideaux added, turning on his heel and continuing to follow after Julius. “I'm not _only_ skin and bone.”

It took no time at all to catch up—Julius had taken a slow pace, looking dour as ever.

“Must you antagonise _everyone_ you meet?” Julius hissed as soon as they were out of earshot.

“Must _you_ repeat yourself so often?” Rideaux fired back. “The man was sneering at me. Am I supposed to ignore that? Besides, I hardly said a thing. You're being oversensitive.”

Julius had no reply to that, or else he didn't want to dignify it with an answer. Having subdued him, at least temporarily, Rideaux glanced at their surroundings for any further clue as to what they were getting themselves into. Perhaps things were busier than usual, the atmosphere slightly more sombre... but perhaps not. Maybe these people were always miserable; he would be, if he was expected to work out here day in day out.

Doctor Kline turned out to be a woman of middling years, with dirt-blonde hair and brown eyes that held the tired echo of alertness. She brightened quickly enough when they introduced themselves.

“I'm glad you were able to arrive so quickly. Has anyone explained the situation to you?”

_The situation?_ Rideaux ran through possibilities in his mind, each more convoluted than the last. It couldn't possibly be anything _too_ complicated or morbid, though; the deviation wasn't pronounced enough for that. Something simple, then. An experiment gone wrong? Some sort of malfunction in their research equipment? Rideaux found himself privately hoping for technical failure, just for the amusement of watching Julius try to deal with it.

“Not yet.” Julius responded, carefully neutral. Rideaux folded his arms and listened.

“Then allow me. Two weeks ago our facility was beset by a pack of flying monsters. We were able to drive most of them away—this is quite a common problem here, so we have practice. Unfortunately one particularly aggressive specimen has settled itself somewhere among the battlements. We haven't been able to scare the beast off, but until yesterday no one had actually been hurt. Now, however...” She paused long enough to wearily rub her eyes with the heel of one hand. “One of our brightest talents has been gravely wounded. He's been sent back to Triglyph for treatment—I've heard you Spirius agents have access to the most advanced medical spyrix on the market.” The light in her eyes kindled in fresh hope, hungry for reassurance.

“That is _absolutely_ true,” Rideaux couldn't resist interjecting, sliding forward to place himself between Julius and the mournful woman. “Let me assure you that this poor soul couldn't possibly be in safer hands. He'll be better than new by the time we're done with him. Let my colleague here tell you.” He turned his sunniest smile on Julius. “Go on. Tell her how talented our medical division is.” _Praise me, darling. You know you want to._

Julius looked as though he would rather swallow a toad. “They are... yes. Very talented.” He managed, shooting Rideaux a cool glare. “You couldn't kill them even if you wanted to.”

_And I love you too, Julius,_ Rideaux crooned silently, far too pleased with himself. Doctor Kline looked frankly affronted at Julius's last remark; Rideaux spread his hands in a gesture of acquiescence, allowing Julius to wrestle the conversation back under control.

-

Not even ten minutes later, they knew three things.

First, they would be facing some sort of winged lupine creature, capable of flight and equipped with rather too many sets of viciously serrated teeth. Their divergence catalyst, no doubt. It sounded quite revolting. When Kline had warned them of its speed Rideaux had been careful not to scoff.

Second, the upper floors of the building had already been evacuated in light of the recent injury. The wounded researcher was named Balan, and Julius had twitched at the name. Someone familiar? It certainly seemed that way.

Third, and most pressingly, they were considerably ahead of schedule. Ludger's ragtag party were most likely only now arriving in Triglyph.

He and Julius needed to buy more time.

It wasn't until Julius shot him an uncharacteristically desperate look that Rideaux realised just how precarious their situation had become. _He's fresh out of ideas. He wants me to solve this._ The thought was both exhilarating and unsettling. After all, Julius had never been a fan of Rideaux's particular brand of problem-solving.

_Fine then. A nice, Kresnik-friendly solution..._ it wasn't so long ago that a Kresnik-friendly solution would have been to simply kill Kline and anyone else making things difficult. But Julius had changed since those days—little Ludger's tooth-rottingly sweet influence no doubt.

Should he kill her anyway, and force the issue? Julius would follow his lead, if only because he'd have no choice once the first corpse hit the floor. Security would be all over them; they'd have to fight their way free. No trouble at all for two experienced Chromatus users. But then he'd have to listen to Julius complain about it. Trapped here in this miserable dump, surrounded by bodies and forced to endure Julius's nagging? Just the thought was unbearable. There had to be another way.

It came to him when they reached the elevator. Julius entered first, casting him another meaningful look that seemed to scream _'if you have any bright ideas, now would be the time'_. Doctor Kline stepped as if to follow, and jolted with surprise when Rideaux caught her arm.

“We can find our own way from here,” He said, pointedly releasing his grip before she somehow got it into her head he was trying to be intimidating. People had a tendency to do that around him. “Could you see to evacuating the ground floor? I would _hate_ for anyone else to be injured.”

She looked skeptical of the possibility, and seemed about to say so. Julius raised an eyebrow as well, but had the sense to play along. “I agree. We don't know just how ugly this could get. Better to take precautions.”

“As you say.” She still looked suspicious, watching them as the door slid closed. Satisfied, Rideaux set himself before the control panel and pressed for the top floor.

“I'm not sure she's going to listen,” Julius said, leaning against the back wall.

“She doesn't have to. As long as she's not in here with us, I don't care what the woman does.” They'd risen a few floors now. This would be good enough. Rideaux worked quickly, reaching within his sleeve to pluck out one of his scalpel knives. Julius watched, increasingly perplexed, as Rideaux worked the thin blade edge into the corner of the control panel, wiggling the handle back and forth. The panel popped away from the wall with a satisfying crack, leaving it dangling precariously from an assortment of connecting wires. Rideaux picked through the complicated array, found what he was looking for, and pulled. _There_.

The elevator ground to a staggered halt. The lights abruptly cut out, then blinked and rose again to a lacklustre greenish glow. Emergency back-up. Very sensible. Rideaux straightened, and stepped over to lean on the wall next to Julius. “It's a good thing _one_ of us isn't useless. Your poor brother. He'll find it so galling when he has to thank me later.”

Julius shifted away, apparently uncomfortable with making their confined quarters any cosier than necessary. “And how exactly is this helping? What did you do?”

“What I just _did_ , Julius, is buy us some valuable time. All we have to do is sit here and wait. Ludger and friends can carry out their little mission, and when they're done I'll simply reconnect the power and we'll be on our way.” He shrugged. “I'm sure the local engineers will be very upset. Very embarrassing, I'm sure, to think they managed to get two bonafide Spirius executives trapped in their 'faulty' elevator. I wonder who they'll blame? Some poor unpopular nobody, no doubt.”

Julius processed this with his usual dour expression, only twitching his lip slightly in some muted appreciation. Then he frowned, as a new question surfaced. “Are you sure you can get this working again?”

“I've done it plenty of times before,” Rideaux answered, saw Julius raise his eyebrows in query, and immediately regretted the response.

Yes, he'd done this before, in Spirius HQ. Countless times he'd jammed himself in the company elevator, trapping himself between floors for the guarantee of a moment's privacy. There were things he didn't want people seeing: spasms, convulsions, the shivering agony between one cycle of pain medication and the next. He'd gotten better at managing his treatments as the years dragged on, and rarely had problems _these_ days that couldn't be disguised under a furious bad mood, but even so. Even so.

He shivered, a full-bodied shudder at remembered pain, and gritted his teeth in annoyance. _Typical_ Julius. Always knowing just what not to ask.

“Does it matter? You're an embarrassment, by the way. There were a dozen ways you could have delayed things back there. Next time you're representing _both_ of us, could you please try not to make such a pathetic mess of it?”

There, that had him distracted. Julius squared his shoulders, puffing up like some wounded adolescent defending his pride. “If you had any suggestions, it might have been useful to hear them.”

“Oh? So I should be more open? Have you heard that expression about the pot calling the kettle black?”

It struck a nerve, just like Rideaux knew it would. He could see it in the way Julius narrowed his eyes, the way Julius's jaw clenched then slackened on some half-formed retort. Even in the hazy gloom his body language was clear and transparent. _We know each other too well._

“I've been perfectly... forthcoming.” Julius seemed to chew the word before finally producing it, like a child being made to eat something unsavoury.

“Shall I give you a list?” Rideaux raised a hand, ticking off his points one slender finger at a time. “You won't tell me where you've been hiding.” _One_. “You won't tell me how you were able to track this fractured dimension.” _Two_. “You won't tell me how far your condition has advanced, you won't even give me a straight answer on how well you'll be able to fight.” _Three, and four._ “And I _know_ that there's something else you're not telling me.” Rideaux closed his fingers into a fist. _Five_.

Julius took this without so much as a flicker of response. In fact his expression seemed quite frozen, as though he didn't quite know _how_ to respond. Was he feeling guilt? Not likely. Struggling to find a good enough lie to cover all those questions? Rideaux was not about to give him a chance to figure one out. He ploughed on, jabbing an accusatory finger at Julius's annoyingly blank face.

“I _know_ there's something you're not telling me,” Rideaux repeated. “You've been acting strange this entire time. It's...” _Ludger? Elle?_ Rideaux cast his mind back, frantically trying to connect the dots. “It's the Key. Every time _I_ mention the Key of Kresnik, _you_ act strange.”

“No I don't,” Julius snapped, too quickly.

“Yes, you do. And it's not only you. Ludger does it, even the damn girl does it. You all know something you're not telling me. What is it, Julius?” Silence. Rideaux gave a frustrated growl and began to pace back and forth in the tiny confined room—step step, _turn_ , step step, _turn_. Julius watched him in silent measure. “Do you think I won't figure it out? Something the three of you know that I don't. Does it involve Bisley? She's not some other bastard of his, is she?”

“Of course not!” Julius snapped again, and this time real anger reverberated in his voice. Rideaux shot him a pointed look, still pacing, and watched as Julius immediately tried to steel his expression back to icy neutrality. “You're imagining things. If there was something you needed to know, I would tell you.”

“You keep saying that.” Step step, _turn_. “When I _need_ to know you'll _tell_ me. Do I look like a child to you? _I'm_ not your baby brother, Julius. I don't need any of the perverse coddling you think of as protection.”

“I'll be sure to keep that in mind,” Julius growled, expression shuttered and set, making it abundantly clear he'd be saying nothing else on the matter. Disgusted, Rideaux stopped pacing to instead fling himself into a corner, arms folded and one leg bent to tap an irritated rhythm with his heel.

For several minutes there was nothing but daunting silence, which Julius handled with typical unwavering aplomb. Rideaux crawled back over his memories, trying to find some other accusation to throw against his miserable companion, and finally settled on something far more recent.

“Well then tell me this. Who's Balan?”

It had exactly the effect Rideaux hoped. Julius prickled to attention, expression momentarily vulnerable and open at the unexpected words. Rideaux savoured every fleeting second of it.

“A neighbour,” He replied at last. Rideaux deflated slightly, let down by the boring answer. But at least Julius had actually responded. Maybe it was even the truth.

The silence seemed about to deepen when Julius surprised him by speaking again, eyes focused on some distant corner of his own memory. “We used to spend time together a bit. Sometimes I'd babysit—his cousin, and sometimes he'd keep an eye on Ludger. We're not really close, but I like him.”

Rideaux wasn't sure he could even recognise his own neighbours in a crowd, much less call them by name. To think _Julius_ was actually capable of making friends. Rideaux glanced for a moment to the same abstract corner that Julius was staring at, as though trying to catch a glimpse of whatever it was Julius was seeing. _Happy childhood memories, hm? How lucky for you._

“I hear he works with Jude now,” Julius continued thoughtfully. “Conducting spyrite research. They're making good progress. I think they'll make it work.”

“Probably,” Rideaux ceded with disinterest. This conversation was turning out a lot duller than he'd hoped. “Well just be grateful he managed to get himself mauled. Now you won't bump into him. No messy questions.”

There was a long pause.

“Right.” Julius voice was tight, his expression looking very much like he wanted to say something entirely different.

It probably would have been better to just let the matter drop. Instead, frustrated to once again be on the receiving end of Julius's attitude, Rideaux narrowed his eyes. “There's no need to get emotional. Your friend Balan doesn't live here. No one does. These people aren't _real_. They're nothing. None of this matters.”

Whatever response Rideaux might have expected, it wasn't the steely glower that Julius was now giving him. “You,” He said, “Really are disgusting sometimes.”

“Ex _cuse_ me?” Rideaux almost laughed, astonished. “Save me your platitudes, Julius. Hypocrisy makes me ill.”

“Save _me_ your twisted logic.” Julius, for his part, looked as though he wanted nothing more than to walk away from the conversation. Instead, trapped and baited, he continued. “I don't care what you tell yourself to help you sleep at night, Rideaux, but don't drag me down with you.”

Rideaux knew Julius had softened over the years, but this seemed like something else entirely. Was Ludger to blame? Or did this belong at the feet of Jude Mathis and his merry brigade of idiots? Whatever the cause, Rideaux sneered and crossed his arms. “When did you become so sanctimonious? It really doesn't suit you. In fact, I think I miss the _old_ Julius. You must remember him—he would have flattened this whole facility by now. Wouldn't even have batted one pretty eyelid at the thought.” Rideaux tilted his head, a gesture of innocence offset by the sharpness of his smile. “Do you _really_ presume to lecture me, Julius? _You_ , of all people?”

“I'm not lecturing you. I know what I am.” The dim light was making it difficult to read Julius's eyes, hidden behind those familiar steel frames. “And I know what these people are. They're all victims, Rideaux. I won't lie to myself and call them anything else. Not any more. If that makes me a monster then so be it.”

“Oh, that's cute. I'm sure Ludger's friends eat it up. How very _tragic_ you are.” Rideaux scoffed, teeth bared around a growl of impatience. He didn't mean to speak again, but the words left him before he had time to think and regret them. “When did you _change_ so much?”

Julius seemed to take the question seriously, judging by the weighted silence before he responded. “When I found him, I suppose.”

No prizes for guessing who. Rideaux clenched his gloved fists, cherishing the private thought of closing them around precious Ludger's fragile neck. If he never heard another word about dear Ludger again it would _still_ be too soon. _You left me behind, Julius. You left me behind and you don't even know you did it._

Struck by a moment of vicious inspiration, Rideaux's smile grew taut. “Does Ludger even _know_ half of the things you've done? I could tell him some wonderful stories. I'm sure he'd love to hear about your glory days.”

“ _Rideaux_ ,” Julius rumbled, deep and low in his chest. Rideaux knew a warning when he heard it. His smile tightened further.

“Do you think he'd be proud? Try to uphold the family name? How many precious lives would he have to ruin before surpassing your record, do you think? I'd love to see him try.”

He'd kept talking, prying at the oldest wound even as Julius's expression darkened. Now it seemed he'd crossed some final unspoken line. Julius stepped closer, eyes glinting dangerous anger, and Rideaux was already in a corner—he had nowhere to retreat to as Julius penned him in, leaving him little choice but to stand taller and sneer some final bravado.

“You _can't_ change who you are, Julius. Not so long as I'm here to remind you.”

“I know that. Nothing I do now can change the man I used to be.” Julius's voice was strangely level; then it veered, thrumming with ill-contained disgust. “But I have only ever met two people _incapable_ of change, Rideaux. You—and Bakur.”

Of all the vile things Julius could have said to him, Rideaux never expected... His mind swam in a moment of stunned shock, reeling and furious, but too blindsided to act on it. Julius's own expression was closed; he stepped away, silent and unyielding. The comparison— _Explicit? Implicit? Is that what he thinks of me, or is that just how it seems?_ —stood unchallenged between them.

_You—and Bakur._

“And yet here I am,” He finally snarled, more wounded than he had any idea what to do with. “Helping you. So what does that say about me, I wonder?” _Stranger, what does it say about Bisley?_

“Rideaux—”

He was going to take it back. Right then, in that moment, Rideaux hated him for it. “Julius, _shut up_.”

Rideaux stepped back to the control panel in a flurry of motion, glad for a quick excuse to keep his hands busy and distracted. It took a moment, fiddling with the wires as he tried to get them back in recognisable order. Then he located the one he'd disconnected, setting it back in place with harried, twitching fingers. Julius finally spoke up.

“Ludger hasn't contacted us yet. It's still too soon.”

“Oops. What a pity.” Rideaux finished, and waited for the familiar lurch of an elevator jolting back into life. “Unfortunately, I miscalculated. It seems that I can't spend another second in here with you. Unless you _want_ this to get even uglier.” Not able to resist some parting shot, but not knowing what else to say, Rideaux looked back over his shoulder to fix Julius a deathly glare.

“You are _rude_ , Julius Will Kresnik.” Then he turned back to the control panel once more, waiting.

And waiting. The seconds continued to tick past. Rideaux's heart began to sink. Nervously, he fiddled the wire once more, then surreptitiously hit it with his fist for good measure. Still nothing. He could sense Julius stepping closer to peer over his shoulder.

“ _How_ many times have you done this?”

“Shut up,” Rideaux ground out between clenched teeth. “Just. Shut _up_.”

-

An hour later, the GHS rang.

Julius, slouched miserably in one corner, came to attention and began groping around for the pocket of his discarded jacket. It had taken a long time before Julius had finally succumbed to the mounting heat and removed it; Rideaux suspected it was almost superstition that had him wait so long, as though _acknowledging_ their predicament would somehow make it true.

Rideaux himself had removed both gloves and boa some time ago, and was feeling queerly nostalgic for the shivering misery of this very morning, waiting beneath the copse of dead trees. _Ahh_ , yes. Nature. The chill of frost in the air. Had it really been so bad? It couldn't possibly be worse than this. The walls seemed to be inching closer by the minute, and Julius's grim sullen mood only seemed to be deepening the longer they'd had to sit here and wait.

But now the GHS was ringing. Rideaux watched, knees drawn to his chest and head cushioned on his folded arms, as Julius finally finished fumbling and pulled the device free. “Ludger,” He answered, voice instantly softer. Rideaux rolled his eyes, a response that was becoming all too familiar, and slouched deeper into angular misery.

“Where are you? ... Mm... That's too obvious, they'll search for you there...” Rideaux listened, trying to make sense of one half of the conversation and quietly resenting Julius's decision not to use the loudspeaker. It sounded as though Ludger and company had achieved their objective. Which meant _they_ were now behind schedule instead of ahead. Wonderful.

He waited until Julius hung up, then sprang to get the first word in. “Where are they hiding?”

“Our apartment,” Julius replied, miserable with concern. Then his voice tightened, as though remembering who he was talking to. “They experienced a little trouble leaving. No one's hurt, but they've blocked themselves in. We need to hurry this up.”

“Easier said than done,” Rideaux reminded him unnecessarily, meeting Julius's frustrated glance with his own weary irritation. They lapsed back into defeated silence.

Surely the engineers would be trying to free them. It couldn't take that much longer, could it? Every minute that edged by Rideaux listened for some tell-tale sign of life, and every minute proved a fresh disappointment. He'd considered, on three separate occasions, simply activating his Chromatus and trying to force their way free. Between him and Julius they could surely cut their way through whatever metal held this damn contraption together, and he had little doubt about his ability to reach the rooftop aided only by his own power.

But that would require Julius using his Chromatus. Rideaux slid a cautious glance toward Julius's gloved hand, grimaced, and bit the idea down once more.

Not that he should _care_. Julius really didn't deserve so much undue consideration. Something else the damn Kresnik brothers would never thank him for.

And how _typical_ that it had to be _his_ plan that ended up backfiring so utterly. Yet another reason for Julius to look down on him. Just what neither of them needed. Rideaux scowled, muttering under his breath as he began beating out an impatient rhythm on the wall with his knuckles. Julius would tell him to stop after a few minutes—or at least that's what he'd done the first two times.

So Ludger and the others had succeeded, and were now hiding in the Kresnik family apartment. Rideaux had never been inside, but his mind's eye nursed a vivid picture of the place. Grey walls and a grey ceiling, leaky pipes hanging out of the kitchen wall, not enough storage space. Stupid cat toys constantly under foot, and probably some malignant odour that no one could find the source of. A miserable little hole in the wall, with a paltry market value just a bare fraction of that of his own luxurious home. It was a petty sort of revenge, but it pleased him all the same.

Ludger, Jude, Alvin. Leia and Elle. Rollo. Six of them, probably barricading the door against the Spirius agents trying to track them down. Counting on Julius to eliminate the divergence catalyst and get them safely home. Rideaux looked again to his former colleague, peering through the dim light to make out the lines of concern etched into Julius's face. Julius, so recently disgraced. Julius, the wanted terrorist.

It was hard to believe how much had happened in so short a time. Julius had been the darling of the company, the errant apple of Bisley's eye. Now it was Ludger who had risen through the ranks, Ludger who looked set to take it all. Ludger, Bisley's unknowing puppet, who would climb over both their corpses to inherit and succeed...

Maybe he should have botched the surgery back then, the day of the train crash. Rideaux entertained himself with the thought, imagining the different paths they might have taken without Ludger Will Kresnik around... and then ground to a halt, suddenly aware once more of that persistent itch of reason niggling the back of his mind. Julius looked over at him with fresh alertness, noticing the change in his demeanour.

That first day, back in Duval, in the bar. He'd sat and watched as Elle and Ludger bickered with one another, the little brat whining and grabbing for something. A watch. _Her_ watch, she'd said.

Like the first peal of thunder heralding an overdue storm, inspiration finally struck true.

“It's the girl.” Rideaux blinked at Julius, aware of the ridiculous expression of dawning enlightenment on his face but too pleased to care. He'd finally figured it out. “ _She's_ the Key.”

“What are you talking about now?” Julius snapped, but it sounded half-hearted to Rideaux's ear. _I'm right, and he knows I'm right._ Rideaux's expression shifted from surprise to an almost predatory pleasure.

“Oh no, not again. Don't think you're getting out of it _this_ time. It's her. That _Elle_ is the Key of Kresnik. That's why she's here today. That's why you've been acting strange. It isn't Ludger at all. It's the damn brat.” Rideaux dragged himself back to his feet, wincing around the aching stiffness before resuming his delighted tirade. “Oh, this is just _rich_. Does Bisley know? I hope you've had enough sense to keep it from him. Does _she_ know? Oh, she does, doesn't she—that's why she was confused back there. It all makes so much sense now.”

Julius rose back to standing as well, pocketing his GHS and watching with the sort of wariness that Rideaux had come to expect of him.

“Well isn't this _interesting_. Where did she even come from?” An uncomfortably familiar vision suddenly flashed before his eyes and made him swallow his next theory. _An orphaned child with a pocketwatch, falling so neatly into Bisley's hands...? Surely not. Not again._

Maybe, somehow, Julius knew what he was thinking, for his voice seemed unusually gentle when he spoke. “She came from far away. That's all you need to know.”

And there it was. Grounded once more in the present, Rideaux fixed Julius with an acidic glower. “Is that so? And at no point before now did you think that _maybe_ you should trust me with this information?”

Julius, damn him, actually had the nerve to laugh. “ _Trust_ you? Why would I?”

_Why indeed?_ Rideaux, momentarily distracted, grasped weakly for some sort of response. “That— That isn't the point.”

Julius laughed harder this time, spreading his hands in a gesture that seemed to say _'I rest my case'_. Rideaux valiantly resisted the temptation to stab him.

“Listen to me, Julius, and be amazed at your own idiocy. I'll even make this simple for you. Elle is the Key of Kresnik. Fact. Elle is becoming a divergence catalyst. Also a fact. _You_ want me to try and cure her. Fact?” Rideaux paused long enough for this to sink in, continuing only when Julius frowned in what appeared to be the beginning of comprehension. “I'll say it again. At _no_ point did you think it might be _relevant_ for me to know about this?”

“It doesn't make a difference,” Julius said uncertainly.

“And you're sure of that, are you?” Rideaux shook his head. “The _fact_ is, you've been withholding information that might be critical in saving that girl's life. It doesn't matter whether or not you trust me, my dear idiot. The second you asked for my expertise, you entered a contract.” At the sharp and rather horrified look Julius gave him Rideaux quickly amended himself. “An _unwritten_ contract. The kind that exists between doctor and patient.”

Julius actually had the sense to look faintly distressed. “Tell me the truth, Rideaux. Does this make a difference?”

Rideaux shrugged, and spread his arms. “Who can say? _I've_ been honest from the start, Julius, unlike you. I'll spell it out again—no one has ever managed to halt the transformation into a divergence catalyst. You've asked me to try, and so I am. But if you aren't telling me the whole truth then I'm going to make mistakes. Do you know how many records we have archived pertaining to the Key of Kresnik? Spirius is full of them. And can you guess how many I asked Ludger to collect today?”

“None of them,” Julius finished, correctly and unnecessarily. His voice turned low and inward. “I'm sorry. I didn't realise.”

“Of course you didn't.” Rideaux folded his arms, leaning back against the wall and bowing his head in fresh consideration of the new facts. He mused aloud, mostly for his own sake—certainly not to try and appease that forlorn expression on Julius's stupid face. “It most likely doesn't change very much. Hard to say for sure. The power of the Key, the power of Origin... even if it _could_ be useful, I doubt she'd be able to use it on herself. The Key from some _other_ dimension, perhaps... But we don't have the time or the means to track one down, and I doubt they'd want to co-operate anyway. And besides, it's all theoretical.”

He mulled it a few seconds longer before raising his head to fix Julius a pointed look. Time to keep pushing, while the going was good. “Let's try this again. What else are you keeping from me?”

Unerringly bland, expression quite flat, Julius replied, “Ludger is Elle's father.”

In truth, Rideaux hadn't expected an answer. He certainly hadn't expected a dramatic one. Instead he found himself caught completely offguard, slack-jawed and uncomprehending for a few precious seconds. Then his mind snapped back into gear, hurrying through the math—if Ludger was twenty years old, then...

Gleeful at the twisted thought, Rideaux grinned. “Well _well_. That's just _nasty_.”

It took Julius a moment to realise what he was insinuating, and another to straighten his indignation back into actual words. “No, you— Get your mind _out_ of the gutter for once! She's from a fractured dimension. _Hell_ , Rideaux. I _thought_ that went without saying.”

It was a perfectly reasonable explanation. Even so, Rideaux could hardly stifle his amusement, just barely managing to suppress it down to a simple dirty smirk. Even that was too much for Julius, who continued to glare at him in affronted disgust. Rideaux made a private note to himself to try and find other ways to besmirch precious Ludger's honour.

A sobering thought penetrated his humour. Rideaux let his folded arms swing loose, setting one ungloved hand on his hip as he regarded Julius with new consideration. What was it they'd been arguing about before? _Change_ , that had been the magic word. It seemed that, somehow, Julius had found yet another way to change himself into something unrecognisable. Without Rideaux's permission. Naturally.

Deceptively mild, Rideaux asked, “Should I congratulate you?”

“I... hm.” Julius stood silent, considering the words. His face was... solemn. Cautious and wistful. “I hadn't considered it.” But his expression hardened before the idea could take root. Rideaux filed the surprising reaction away, secret and safe. “Elle is from a fractured dimension, one that's about ten years ahead of ours. That's where Ludger obtained the final waymarker. He fought, and killed, her father.”

And Elle's father _was_ Ludger. _Ergo..._

Rideaux gave a low whistle of understanding. “And that's why the little dumpling has been crying so much. What fun. Have you considered _letting_ her become a catalyst? Some people would call it mercy.”

“Some people would be well advised to keep such opinions to themselves,” Julius grated between clenched teeth, with a touch of familiar ire. Rideaux decided to take the hint.

“And when you say her father was the final waymarker, you mean...?”

“He was calling himself Victor.” Rideaux whistled again; Julius nodded. “He killed Bisley, and...many others, all in Elle's name. I don't think she realises how many people died for her, which is one small blessing in all of this. When Victor reached Canaan he was turned away. That's when he concocted a plan to replace _our_ Ludger and steal himself another chance—he wanted to be reborn with Elle, here, in the prime dimension. That was his wish.”

_Not **our** Ludger, Julius; yours. I want **none** of him._ Rideaux kept the objection to himself, but scoffed aloud at those final words. “What a pathetic idea. He already had the girl, didn't he? Why not just live out his days with her in their little fractured dimension and save us all the trouble?”

For once Julius didn't disagree with him. Instead he kept his brooding silence, folded his arms, and turned to lean against the wall alongside him, side by side, shoulder to shoulder. Rideaux could feel Julius's body heat radiating where their arms touched, surprisingly warm. It was a lot more contact than Julius usually allowed.

“So. He killed Bisley.” Rideaux tilted his head at an angle, gazing at Julius through the dim flickering light before directing his attention to the ceiling of their elevator-prison. “That must have been satisfying. I'm quite jealous.”

“Mm,” Was all Julius said.

“And he must have killed _you_ , if he inherited the title of Victor.” Rideaux shrugged one shoulder, before allowing, “Or else something else killed you for him.”

“No, it was him.” Julius, too, turned his gaze upward. “Or so Ludger tells me.”

_What about me?_ Rideaux almost asked, then thought better of the question. Whatever the answer, it wasn't likely to be very enjoyable. It didn't matter anyway—that dimension was gone now, thrown to the void like so many others.

His musings were interrupted by a sudden lurching movement. Rideaux stumbled at the unexpected motion, grabbing onto Julius's forearm at the same time as Julius's reached out to steady him. The elevator groaned, dropped slightly, and then began a painstakingly slow descent. Rideaux straightened, snatching his arm free of Julius's protective clutch in a belated attempt to reclaim his dignity. “It's about damn time. Useless amateurs.”

“Says the one who got us trapped here in the first place.” Rideaux shot him a withering look, to which Julius only smiled, falsely innocent. Then his expression sobered. “Listen, Rideaux. Before we get out of here, there's something I have to say to you.”

A thousand different possibilities tumbled through Rideaux's mind, each more lurid than the last. But no—he already knew where this was going. Rideaux shook his head, flicking a dismissive hand in Julius's direction before crouching down to collect his discarded gloves. “I don't want to hear it. You needn't patronise me, former Director Kresnik. I, too, know what I am.” _And what we are to each other._

Julius only shook his head. “It's not about trust, you know. Some habits are just too difficult to break.”

“Like the habits of a lifetime.” Of the many approaches Julius might have taken, that faux-apology... was somehow not so difficult to swallow. Rideaux seized a handful of Julius's coat, passing it up to him in a muted gesture of goodwill. Then he climbed back to his feet, smiling hollow and sour.“I suppose that's what happens when you pit two people against each other for the better part of their lives. Causes a few little rifts here and there.”

“Something else to thank him for,” Julius said, and his expression shuttered closed once more.

They stood in silence, waiting, accompanied only by the spectre of the man who'd led them both down this road.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry for the wait on this one! the next chapter is already done, or, to put it another way, this chapter was actually 12k all by itself for goodness sake, and has ultimately been split in two. so expect the next part tomorrow or friday!!


	5. Chapter 5

When the elevator doors finally slid open, Doctor Kline was waiting for them, accompanied by half a dozen profusely apologetic technicians and another dozen frantic assistants. Julius kept quietly to himself while Rideaux made a show of berating them all for precious time wasted—when he finally finished, Kline had gone quite ashen and Rideaux himself was feeling almost entirely back to his usual acerbic self. “With friends like you, who would ever need enemies?” Julius muttered to him at one point; Rideaux had only bared his teeth in smirking response.

If anyone suspected the true cause of their delay, they didn't seem willing to say so. He and Julius were, instead, dolefully informed that, no, taking the stairs _wouldn't_ be possible on account of the building not _having_ any. A grave oversight, Julius had informed them critically, keeping a remarkably straight face. Bombarded instead by assurances that there would be no further trouble, Julius stepped back into the elevator. Rideaux, making to follow, stumbled to a surprised halt when Julius raised a staying hand.

“Let's do this one at a time.” He said, in a voice not open to debate. “Just in case.”

The doors shut before Rideaux could muster a retort, leaving him irritably surrounded by the very people he'd just torn to verbal shreds. If this was Julius's idea of a joke it was in extremely poor taste. Moody and agitated, Rideaux crossed his arms, tapped one finger against his elbow in an impatient rhythm, and found himself musing on the strange expression Julius had made when asked about Elle. When asked about his niece.

So. Julius was an uncle now.

It hardly seemed fair. Julius, forever the fortunate one, now had something _else_ worth living for.

Yet he seemed to be keeping it at a distance. And no wonder—what sense was there in growing attached? The girl was likely doomed, no matter how hard anyone tried to save her. And Julius's own chances of survival were looking bleaker by the day, much like his own. Before _Ludger_ appeared, he'd believed Bisley intended to keep one of them around, but now...

So long as Origin's Trial remained incomplete, every day was borrowed time. _It's coming, Julius, and soon. You feel it on your shoulders, just the same way I do._ Rideaux growled under his breath, remembering again the expression Julius had worn when asked about the girl. Cautious, some distant echo of stillborn optimism. Rideaux violently quashed the curious part of himself that found Julius's melancholy oddly touching.

_That_ road could only lead to ruin.

-

“I don't see what the purpose of that was, but next time you— oh, _damn_ it all...” The hallway, stretched to either side of him, stood devastated and empty. Julius, the stupid insolent lout, was nowhere to be seen.

Professional instincts taking command, Rideaux quickly backed himself to the wall and pressed a hand over an inner pocket of his jacket, fingers tracing over the pocketwatch concealed within. _Think. Assess._ What had happened here, and how recently?

It was recent. Within the last few hours, or even the last few minutes. The walls were gouged with the evidence of terrible claws, stuttering electronics hanging down and hissing in a mockery of expression. No blood, but sure signs of struggle. That scrape in the wall, could that have been caused by a lance? Possibly. Rideaux grit his teeth at the prospect.

The damn beasts were supposed to be on the _roof_ , not inside the building! “ _Amateurs_ ,” He spat again, a word becoming more and more invective by the minute,“Useless _amateurs_.” Even Ivar could have done a better job than this.

Hurrying through the mental motions, Rideaux painted the scene in his mind. The elevator had reached this top floor, depositing Julius directly into the pack of roving creatures. A coincidence? Or had the creatures heard him coming and lain in ambush? No, there was no cover here, nowhere they could have hidden. They must have struck immediately, before Julius had realised what was happening. Had Julius managed to activate his Chromatus? Rideaux cast a second considering glance over the wall, and decided yes, he had. So Julius was armed, and fighting.

So why couldn't he hear anything? And where, amidst this struggle, was the blood that had surely been spilled? Too many questions, and no time to spare. He'd figured out all he was going to from here.

_More haste, less speed._ Rideaux moved with cautious alacrity, determining the route of peak carnage and following the trail of damage. Across the hallway and through a battered mechanical door, and then through the ransacked debris of what must have once been a research laboratory. Scattered papers and twinkling devices caught his vigilant eye—was that a spirit fossil down there, buried beneath that toppled stack of files?—and given other circumstances he would have gladly stopped to read. A great deal of his own successful research had begun under quite similar circumstances. And why not profit from a dimension on the verge of destruction?

But not now. Rideaux crouched lower at the first brush of cool air, inching around an upturned metal desk to place himself in direct sight of the open door. 'Open' being a generous term. It hung from its hinges at a severe angle, blocking the lower half of the doorway with its damaged bulk. Rideaux surveyed the limited gap left available, and smiled grim satisfaction. If the creatures had been coming and going this way, then they couldn't be all that large.

Doctor Kline's description came back to him. Lupine, she'd said—and winged. It didn't matter how large they were once the open sky was involved. Luring them back in here might give him an advantage, except their sheer numbers would undoubtedly overwhelm him in such a limited space. No, he needed the rooftop for manoeuvrability just as much as they did—but what he called necessity, they would use as a natural advantage. If only he knew how many to expect.

Damn it, if only he knew where the hell _Julius_ had gone.

Closer, closer... pressing himself to the wall just inside the damaged doorframe, Rideaux twisted to peer at what lay beyond—and swore.

_There_ was Julius. He _had_ activated his Chromatus, although it didn't seem to have done him a great deal of good. He lay now in utmost stillness, eyes open and vividly alert but limbs splayed at strange unnatural angles. Not broken, in Rideaux's professional medical opinion, but it was hard to believe the position could possibly be _comfortable_. With a sick lurch in the pit of his stomach, Rideaux suddenly knew exactly what he was looking at. A relic of his childhood, his own personal nightmare: paralysis.

Permanent, or a temporary affliction? Temporary, Rideaux decided. It had to be temporary. Which explained the signs of initial struggle, followed by the overall lack of visceral carnage. Julius had attempted to defend himself, but then been struck low by whatever trick these creatures had up their figurative sleeves. And then they'd dragged him out here? Rideaux looked closer, trying to determine evidence of head trauma or some other sign that Julius had been so manhandled... but it was too difficult to tell from such a distance.

Surrounding Julius, barking back and forth in a series of excited yelps, stood five hound-like creatures. Fangs, as promised, protruded revoltingly from their elongated jaws, jagged and glistening with froth. Their eyes were small and forward-facing, tiny glinting black beads. Their back legs looked strong, their front paws comparatively slight and unimpressive. From their shoulder-blades emerged the glistening wings Doctor Kline had described, almost insectoid in the way they gleamed and reflected the afternoon light. Rideaux tried to envision the beasts taking to the air, propelling themselves skyward with a kick of the hind legs and descending once more to snap and tear with those vile serrated teeth.

“Wonderful. Just wonderful.” Only five, though. It was too dangerous to assume there wouldn't be more, but in the end it might not matter. He didn't need to kill these ones—only the divergence catalyst truly mattered, and there was no sign of it here. The best plan now was to stay low and wait for some sign of the real target. It would have to show up sooner or later.

Particularly if these yapping hounds were planning to surrender Julius to their pack leader's undoubtedly carnivorous appetite. Rideaux raised a brow, imagining the sight of a defenseless Julius caught and spread like some ancient sacrifice upon a barbarian altar. Ohhh, yes. The thought definitely held a certain vicious appeal...

So he could wait, and watch. _Or_ he could rescue Julius now. The thought of having Julius Will Kresnik indebted to him... not even Rideaux could put a price on _that_. Silent and tensed, Rideaux made his choice.

Sneaking around them proved to be deceptively simple. The hounds were completely distracted, still yapping at one another and occasionally ducking their heads to snuffle at their unmoving prey. Rideaux watched with absolute attention as he climbed gingerly through the battered doorway, scalpels ready and poised for attack. Should he activate his Chromatus now, or wait for the true enemy to appear? He was confident in his strength, true—but so was Julius, now lying paralysed and helpless.

And aware of him. Rideaux met Julius's white-rimmed gaze and raised a cautioning hand, scalpels still grasped between his fingers. To his grateful surprise Julius seemed to calm a notch, eyes narrowing slightly as he gave a barely perceptible nod. Not _completely_ paralysed, then.

“They're blind,” Julius hissed. One of the hounds snapped aggressively at the sound of Julius's voice, fangs scraping harsh but harmless across the metallic sheen of Julius's Chromatus-enhanced torso, but astonishingly they gave no other response, still unaware of the new presence in their midst. Julius, watching warily, spoke again. “And their hearing is poor. Be quick.”

_How else?_ Rideaux mouthed in response, and guessed from the twinkle in Julius's eye that he understood.

Now, then. It was time. Rideaux reached into his jacket, and closed his fingers around the watch kept within.

He'd been scarcely more than a child the first time he'd activated his Chromatus under Bisley Bakur's watchful gaze. The process had almost killed him, frail and sickly as he'd been. Afterwards, though—afterwards he'd felt exhilarated.

There had been a lot to learn since then. The limitations of his power, and the limitations of his own struggling body. The costs; physical, mental, emotional. Not a day had passed that he hadn't felt the toll extracted in one form or another. Every dimension he'd destroyed was one step closer to his own demise; transformed into a divergence catalyst, or chosen to become the path to Canaan. Scion of Kresnik, brought into this world with watch in hand, the Chromatus had controlled and consumed his life.

And yet, despite it all, Rideaux still felt that same rush of exhilaration each and every time.

If there was one thing Rideaux Zek Rugievit understood, it was the all-powerful intoxication of hating something you loved.

Freedom, it felt like. Nerves dimmed, senses heightened—pain diminished in favour of strength, of agility, of all the gifts he'd been denied at birth. The alterations he'd made to his aspyrixes, the never-ending cycle of new medications, the medical limits to which he'd pushed himself time and time again—none of it ever compared to this.

Rideaux crouched low, breathing deeply of the pure open air and taking a bare sweet second to savour the fresh power coursing through his altered body. Then he lunged, blades levelled and sweeping around. The first creature tore and split with a shrieking cry, collapsing to the rooftop in instantaneous demise. The other four finally came to belated attention, wheeling around to face this new source of danger. By then Rideaux had spun, darting forward to strike at a second foe. This one was not so fortunate as the first—it hit the ground wounded and continued to thrash, crippled and agonised.

Perhaps if the other three hadn't leapt at him, Rideaux might have felt sorry for the stupid beast. Instead he backstepped _one two three_ , arms and blades raised to defend himself. Julius yelled something, Rideaux couldn't make out what, but he understood the tone well enough to take it as a warning. He twisted, ducking beneath the assault instead of blocking it directly.

It was the right decision. Two of the creatures passed over him, spewing in their wake a cloud of purple spores. The third seemed more aware, following Rideaux's movements with an eager snap of its slathering fang-riddled jaws. Rideaux knocked it back with a wild swing, saving himself from the attack but failing to do any harm. Breath caught and heart thundering, he leapt back to put some space between them, and watched as the strange purple cloud caught on the wind to dissipate and vanish.

“Don't breathe that stuff!” Julius shouted, struggling futilely himself against the noxious effects.

“You don't say!” Rideaux shot back, realigning himself for a second assault.

The three remaining foes were spreading out, but slowly, more wary than he would have expected. One of them was swinging its head from side to side, nostrils flaring wildly. Another kept turning its attention to Julius as if distracted. Why weren't they airborne yet? Rideaux feinted left, experimentally, and then followed the move through with mounting confusion as the three creatures failed to respond. Blind, Julius had said, and hard of hearing. So what senses did they use, and why weren't they using them now?

Questions for later. Rideaux snapped forward, skewering one of the confused monsters just as it seemed to finally become aware of his new position. The other two came to vicious attention, yowling fury and dashing forward as Rideaux swore, planting a foot against the creature now revoltingly impaled on the Chromatus-enhanced scalpels of his left hand. He yanked, and found them stuck fast in the unyielding flesh of his prey. Rideaux swore again, gulped fresh air, and twisted toward the oncoming attack.

The spores struck him full in the face, bringing with them the unwanted flash of too much childhood fear. Rideaux grit his clenched jaw and surged forward, leaving behind the three scalpel blades still embedded in the carcass. Panicking wouldn't help; he knew that. Even so his next swing was wide and erratic, a desperate strike designed only to clear his path. It didn't work, and Rideaux very nearly gasped at the feel of heavy jaws clamping around his forearm.

The fangs barely penetrated his armoured flesh, but the weight of it dragged him down, spinning him around dizzyingly. His knees hit the ground with a jarring crunch, but at least now he was lower, pulled beneath the dangerous toxic cloud that was now beginning to dissipate overhead. Rideaux pulled in a fresh lungful of air, unsure of the source of his nausea—the toxins, the lack of oxygen? Or fear, humiliating fear of a too-familiar threat? Livid, he yanked his arm forward and rolled his weight across the stubborn creature still grasping it, crushing its fragile wings and making an unlikely weapon of his own physical form. Never had he ever envisioned himself doing something so inelegant as _wrestling_ with monsters, but the effect was immediate—it released its grip, thrashing and twisting in an attempt to gain leverage and free itself. Rideaux cut its throat with furious efficiency.

Which left one. It was upon him faster than he would have anticipated, pouncing forward with all the coiled power of those thick hind legs. Rideaux didn't have time to brace himself, taking the full brunt of its assault with an embarrassing “ _Oof!_ ” as it knocked him back and set him rolling. Rideaux tucked inward, grateful more than ever for the protective Chromatus armour that covered his body. He skidded to a halt close to the surrounding battlements, and barely had time to uncurl before the creature pounced at him again. This time he was slightly more prepared, kicking with both feet together and striking its chest with a meaty thunk. It yelped and contorted in the air, but landed with something close to grace, wings spreading in support to either side.

That confirmed it. These things _weren't_ capable of flight. Rideaux smirked triumphantly, gathering himself into a steady crouch and staring at the beast's beady unseeing eyes. Flightless and sightless and deaf as posts—the poor useless things really _deserved_ to die. Rideaux waited a few seconds, watching with quiet disgust the saliva dribbling over its jagged mismatched jaws, and then struck forward. It was expecting him, of course, but he'd taken that into account; it lunged high, attempting to leap over his thrust, and Rideaux's attack rose with it. The creature was gouged from neck to groin, and it took only a final surge of momentum to propel its wounded form clean over the battlements. It must have been dead before it even reached the ground.

And then he was free to breathe again. Rideaux climbed back to his feet, valiantly ignoring the nauseous dizzy rush that accompanied the action. His fingers tingled, and there was a curious numbness laying around his cheeks and lips, indescribably _weird_. But that was all. He was walking, he was moving. He smirked victorious, only a little lopsided, took a necessary moment to adjust his hair, then set to the gruesome task of retrieving his waylaid scalpels.

At some point the wounded monster had died, or at least passed into deathly unconsciousness. Meanwhile, Julius had just about managed to struggle onto one armoured elbow, sensation apparently returning at a slow but steady rate. Rideaux smiled patronising encouragement as he worked away at the corpse still holding his blades, quite delighted with his literally captive audience. He tugged the last blade free with a grisly visceral flourish, then raised his voice, careful to disguise the way his tongue felt thick and unwieldy in his mouth. “Did you enjoy that?”

“Do you remember what Kline said?” Julius responded, ignoring the question; now that Rideaux had the chance to pay full attention he could hear the same thickness of speech echoed in Julius's heavy voice. “She said one. _One_ monster. Not five.”

“I know.” Rideaux rolled his shoulders, then made his way to Julius's side, keeping a cautious eye toward the sky. “And she said it would be airborne. What do you think?”

“I think,” said Julius, sounding the words out carefully, “That we just killed a fresh litter of...” He fumbled for the right word.

“Puppies?” Rideaux supplied helpfully. Julius gave him a withering look, quite commendable given his current embarrassing position.

“Whelps,” He finished. “The mother can't be far away, and she isn't going to be pleased. I suppose this explains why she was so aggressive.” Julius tilted his head then, looking up at Rideaux with fresh speculation. “And why their senses were underdeveloped. But what did you do? They couldn't seem to track you.” In a bitter undertone, Julius added, “They didn't have a problem with _me_.”

He'd been wondering the very same thing, but it wasn't until Julius spoke the question aloud that the answer became suddenly apparent. It had been earlier that morning, almost an afterthought before leaving his apartment to meet Julius and the do-gooders out in the Elympion wilderness. He'd wanted to avoid undue complications, so idly splashed a standard-issue Holy Bottle under his exclusive cologne... Enough, apparently, to thoroughly confuse the freshly formed minds of these poor hopeless creatures.

Rideaux's smile was deliberately enigmatic. “What would you have me say, former Director Kresnik? I am a man of many hidden talents.”

Julius scoffed derisively, but Rideaux thought he could detect a shadow of curious respect in Julius's eyes. Pleased beyond words, Rideaux reached down, grasped Julius's forearm, and pulled. What resulted was a somewhat uncharacteristic yelp, and a _very_ uncharacteristic wobble, and then Julius was upright, kneeling and tenuous but no longer stuck in the dismal horizontal. Rideaux's pleasure was cut short at the sight this new angle afforded. The back of Julius's head was matted with thick dark blood. Julius, after taking a long moment to regain his bearings, seemed to read his expression. “Don't read too much into it. They dragged me here after they paralysed me. It was a bit of a rough ride, but it's nothing serious. Looks worse than it is. You know how head wounds bleed.”

_I also know what head wounds lead to, you idiot,_ Rideaux almost snapped. Instead he settled for sneering irritation. “Did I look worried? You poor thing. You're already delusional.” Decision abruptly made, Rideaux rapped firm knuckles against Julius's armoured torso. “Change back.”

“What?”

“ _Change back_ ,” Rideaux enunciated with caustic deliberation. Julius, still feeling the potent effects of that toxic spore, nonetheless shook his head in refusal.

“I'm not going to let you fight alone—” He began. Rideaux didn't give him the chance to finish.

“My dear moron, what do you think I've been doing so far? You can barely move, much less _help_. I've already killed five of these things. One more is not going to make a difference.” Julius looked set to argue further; Rideaux raised his voice, lip curling. “Don't think about talking over me, Julius Will Kresnik. You are going to do exactly what I tell you, or else two things are going to happen. First, I won't fix up that bloody head of yours, which will cause quite a stir when Ludger sees it. Second, I'll _tell_ Ludger—” Tell Ludger what? What threat would prove most potent? Rideaux's voice tightened. “ _Everything_. Everything you don't want him to know. Quite an exhaustive list, isn't it?”

Julius, grey-skinned under the influence of the Chromatus, somehow managed to grow more pallid. “I don't want you to fight by yourself,” He said again. Rideaux could practically hear the wounded pride echoing in his words.

“How tragic for you.” Rideaux turned to scan the sky, no longer willing to meet that infuriating blue-eyed gaze. “You listen to me, Julius. Elle isn't the only one getting close to the end of the line. If you want me to cure this, then the least you can do is stick around long enough to see it through.” Rideaux's lips thinned. “You can make whatever stupid decisions you like after that. No skin off _my_ back.”

“Rideaux,” Julius muttered through clenched teeth, and the stiffness of his voice brought Rideaux back to absolute attention in an instant. He followed Julius's tense stare, pinned at some high point on the battlements, and cursed softly at the sight.

It looked much like the others, only larger, and with its insectoid wings glistening and spread. Its eyes, even from this distance, gleamed with an alertness lacking in the whelps, and its jagged teeth seemed even more savage and haphazard in the hulking creature's mouth. All the ferocity of a lupine foe with none of the supposed elegance. The air surrounding it seemed to ripple and surge, a pulsating darkness that unmistakably marked this creature as their intended target. The divergence catalyst, at last coming out to play. Rideaux levelled his blades once more.

Julius, too, attempted to rise, but teetered gracelessly, collapsing back to his knees with an furious pained oath. Rideaux shifted in front of him without hesitation or even thought, a protectiveness borne of many years working side by side. _My partner and my death sentence._ It was a familiar feeling, a dichotomy he'd pondered before. “Change back, _now_ ,” He snapped, one last time.

And finally, Julius did. Rideaux glanced— no, he only _intended_ to glance, meaning only to see whether of not Julius had complied with his demand. Instead he froze, quite suddenly and quite infinitely distracted by what he was seeing. There knelt Julius, gazing back at him, gazing _up_ at him with an expression taut and exhausted. Humiliated at what he believed to be defeat. A thin trickle of blood edge down his temple, battered red bringing out the vivid blue of his eyes. His jaw was set, his hands clenched in twitching half-paralysed fists.

Julius, humbled, on his knees. At his mercy. Rideaux swallowed, stared. Swallowed again.

The creature was approaching, he could feel the stirring air that heralded its approach. No time, no time for this, but— Rideaux ducked his head low, pressing parted lips dangerously close to Julius's ear, much closer than he would have ever dared had Julius been in a position to resist. “You should wear that expression more often,” He hissed, and it seemed to his Chromatus-heightened senses that Julius actually shuddered at the whisper of his words. “It suits you.”

Rideaux had enough sense not to wait for a reply. Scalpels poised and body thrumming with far too much unspeakable yearning, he spun, swept into combat, and didn't once look back.

-

They returned from the fractured dimension in something close to silence.

Julius quickly reverted to his usual terse self, carrying beneath it an undercurrent of discomfort. Because of his perceived failings? Most likely. He said very little, beyond clinical queries into Rideaux's well-being, and cold formal statements about his own health. Cool professionalism, the same bastion he always turned to.

Rideaux compensated for the frosty silence with copious acidity, twisting the knife of Julius's shortcomings at every possible chance. Usually such an opportunity would have delighted him; right then it only served to compound his darkening mood. The trek back through the Elympion wilderness was bleak, a miserable and moody atmosphere clinging around both their shoulders. An atmosphere that suited Rideaux just fine, or so he finally managed to convince himself; Julius never said anything worth listening to _anyway_.

The rendezvous point was that same copse of trees from which they'd set out from those long hours ago. Julius stopped just short of the goal, turning around and sitting in the grass without so much as a word of explanation. Rideaux, not anticipating the sudden stop, crossed his arms curtly and cocked his head in askance.

“You said you'd look at it,” Julius muttered, waving a vague hand in the direction of his bloodied hair. “I don't want Ludger worrying.”

Rideaux rolled his eyes so hard it almost _hurt_ , but even so he took up position behind Julius and set to work examining the mass of clotted blood and hair. “You really are stuck on him, aren't you?” He muttered between probing touches, words he hadn't quite meant to say but couldn't bring himself to regret. “Have you ever heard of a brother complex?”

“I know it's hard for you to understand,” Julius replied, voice almost edging away from that impassive flatness, “But some people actually have healthy relationships. You should try it sometime.”

_You—and Bakur._ The words bubbled up in his consciousness, unwelcome and biting. Rideaux almost jabbed his fingers into the tender wound. “Hypocrisy again? Go one single day without lying to that brother of yours. _Then_ you can lecture me on the magic of _healthy_ relationships.”

Julius emitted a muffled grunt but little else, the conversation lapsing back into silence. _Do you trust me now?_ Rideaux considered asking, venomous and black, but settled for grinding his teeth in a tired grimace. A few pertinent medical questions were met with volumeless one-word answers. Rideaux gave up, and granted Julius permission to call himself unharmed.

In the end it wasn't enough. The wound _was_ minor, a lot of blood for a relatively small laceration; Julius had been right when he said scalp wounds had a tendency to run red. Even so, they lacked the means to clean away the blood matted in Julius's golden-brown hair, and so Rideaux was forced to once again endure Ludger's predictably frantic concern. In a day surprisingly fraught with emotions, it was just about the last straw. Huffing, he turned his attention pointedly away and was immediately greeted by Leia.

The damn girl was quickly establishing herself as the most annoyingly cheerful person he'd ever had the misfortune of meeting. “Here,” She chirped, holding out the untraceable GHS with a strange and unreadable gleam in her vibrant green eyes. Rideaux snatched it, pocketing the thing before Julius could get the bright idea of giving it away to someone else.

“Things were getting pretty intense for a while there. You guys got us out just in the nick of time. Thanks!” She smiled, dazzlingly sunny. “Did it go okay on your end? Julius isn't too hurt, is he?”

“Mild concussion, perhaps. If he wasn't so revolting to be around I would insist on taking him back to my apartment for a more thorough examination.” Unintentional innuendo for a change. The girl didn't seem to notice, although that infuriating _Al_ raised an eyebrow. Warming to the subject, and glad for a chance to vent, Rideaux continued. “As it stands, the man can choke and die for all I care. If I'm ever so foolish as to suggest something like this again, please, be a dear and remind me of that.”

“You really hate him that much?” She asked, sounding more curious and awed than offended. Her voice did take a hint of reproach when she added, “He's a bit hard to read, but he seems like a good person to me.”

“And do _I_ seem like a good person to you?” He let her stutter awkwardly for a second before raising his hands in a languid shrug. “So you see, we are simply not compatible people. It's a terrible shame.”

“Hey now, you know what they say about opposites,” Alvin interjected, and Rideaux had the impression it was more to save Leia's embarrassment than anything else. Even so he bared his teeth, the closest he could manage to a smile under the circumstances.

It seemed, in truth, that Leia was in no need of such rescue. Taking her moment to recover, she pulled a notebook from the pocket of her blazer and flashed another brilliant undaunted smile. “So, when should we do that interview? I know you're _super_ busy right now, but I promise I won't get in the way. Maybe I can even help. How about it?”

The mental image assaulted him unbidden; himself, trying desperately to work, bombarded with 'help' from Leia and Ivar both. Rideaux balked at the horrific thought. “Sometime soon,” He replied, non-committal. She looked momentarily disappointed, but scribbled a quick note before obligingly stuffing the paper and pen away once more.

“It's a date, then. Um, not, like a romantic one, of course!” The idiot girl turned pink, trying to untangle herself from the words she'd just spoken. Rideaux turned away, not at all interested in watching her struggle to escape embarrassment for the second time in only a few minutes. Instead he pulled out his own GHS, and scrolled to Ivar's number. If they thought he was going to be carrying all these documents back to Triglyph _himself_ they were most sorely mistaken.

Ludger and Julius were still conferring, Jude hovering at the edge of their conversation. Standing behind them, eyes downcast and fingers plucking at her sleeves, stood Elle. Rideaux caught himself scrutinising her, trying to find the telling signs of her parentage. It was in the eyes, of course, more like Ludger's than Julius's but carrying echoes of both. He should have seen it much sooner.

This, then, was why Julius had suddenly become so sensitive to the imagined worthiness of those existing in fractured dimensions. And was this another reason for her constant red-eyed glumness? Not only the loss of her father, but some implied inferiority complex, seeing herself as second fiddle to the Elle yet to be born? Rideaux frowned softly, fascinated by the nuance.

As if sensing his attention, Elle's chin jerked up. She narrowed her eyes, glaring at him with unselfconscious vehemence. The inspiration hit him suddenly. He smiled at her, and inclined his head.

“Do you ever _miss_ that phony Milla? Or have you forgotten her already?” He asked, loud, clear, and unmistakable.

All conversation halted, all attention collectively snapping toward him at the impact of his words. Even the stupid cat bristled, bounding up to take pride of place at Elle's side. Ludger's expression was lit with astonished fury; Julius's face darkened and his mouth twisted. Rideaux spared them little more than a glance, keeping his attention reserved for the child trembling before him.

And she was trembling, but with fury, not fear. A real brat, and a proud one. Definitely a Kresnik. “Don't talk about her like that!” She screamed, fists balled and gathered at her chest. “Milla was Milla! She wasn't a phony! She was worth ten of you!”

Rideaux responded quickly, acting before Ludger or anyone else had the bright idea to try and interrupt. “But she was from a fractured dimension, wasn't she? The _real_ Milla Maxwell is here now.”

Out of the corner of his eye Rideaux saw Julius's eyes widen, saw him reach to lay a steadying hand on Ludger's shoulder.

“That doesn't matter!” Elle advanced toward him, courageous or foolhardy or both. She planted herself at his feet and glowered up with tear-filled eyes, fists still firmly clenched. If she was stupid enough to try and hit him again... “Milla was Milla too! They were both real!”

“Then there we are.” Rideaux flicked a dismissive hand at her, the same shooing gesture one might make at a particularly annoying animal. Or Ivar. “Either your Miss Milla was a phony, or you're just as real as she was. You can't have it both ways, kiddo.” She stared at him, suddenly wide-eyed and deeply unsure. Inspired once again, he smiled. “What you're doing is being a hypocrite. Ask Uncle Julius what it means.”

“I know what it means, stupid,” She pouted back at him, but cast an uncertain glance around the group before scuttling nervously to Ludger's side, Rollo bouncing behind her. Rideaux shrugged, and took care not to meet Julius's eye.

But in the end Julius wasn't willing to let the matter go. He marched over as soon as Ludger was sufficiently distracted with talking to the girl, eyes narrowing as he leaned closer enough to mutter in a low, warning tone. “ _Don_ 't call me that.”

“Why not?” Rideaux tilted his head, smiling innocence. “Don't want the girl to like you?” Julius's glare told him that was _exactly_ why. And if he didn't want her to grow attached, that could only mean one thing. Rideaux was prepared to push the issue, but suddenly Jude Mathis appeared at his shoulder, expression mild and gently curious.

“Mr. Rideaux,” He started, and Rideaux swelled with private pleasure to hear his name once again elevated in Mathis's pathetic world view. “That was... surprisingly kind of you.”

Julius's laughter was steeped in frustrated irony. “That wasn't kind. He's just a pedantic ass. Has to be right about everything.”

“I... see,” Jude said, clearly unwilling to contradict Julius's words. Rideaux merely bowed his head in acknowledgement of both parties, and smiled all the more serenely.

-

Not until much later, recumbent once more in the sanctuary of his own luxurious apartment and nursing a long overdue glass of wine, did it occur to Rideaux to actually _check_ the GHS Leia had handed to him.

The results were... staggering in their absurdity. Rideaux flicked through image after image, expression growing more and more astonished with each snapshot. It seemed that, between them, Leia and Elle had chronicled the entire day's events through a series of increasingly blurry selfies. Some of them were even captioned. They were all, infuriatingly, addressed to 'Riddles'.

Eventually he stopped at one especially alarming shot. He stared, stunned by the sheer gall of it, before scanning the accompanying caption: 'Look! We found you!'

And they certainly had. Rideaux peered at the strange reflection of himself, the fractured version they had seen in passing. The picture showed him merely walking, too distant to really read any facial expression. An average work day, most likely. The sort of day he would have been having, had he not let Julius rope him into disastrous fiasco.

Rideaux's thumb hovered, trying to decide whether or not to delete this image just as he had done with all the rest. Why should he even hesitate? He'd destroyed the entire dimension mere hours ago, how could deleting a single image provoke more of a reaction from him? He pressed the button, trying not to question the strange feeling that had settled in the base of his stomach.

He looked at the next shot, and blanched. “You _can't_ be serious."

It depicted a simple piece of paper, and a signature that was all too familiar. Another caption accompanied it: 'We got your autograph! But he wouldn't sign it Riddles （ ；´Д｀）'

“I should think not,” Rideaux muttered tartly, and deleted the rest of the album without looking. How these idiots had even survived the day was completely beyond him. He sat back, sipped his wine, and tried to empty his mind of anything but the dulling effects of alcohol.

It didn't work.

Hours later he remained slouched in the same position, staring down the green-tinged world through a second empty bottle of wine. Remembering the way Julius had looked on his knees. It was that twisting distracting image, or drowning himself in the similarities he shared with the man who'd found him all those years ago. The man who'd ruined both their lives.

Eventually he lapsed into an intoxicated sleep, laden with wild, unconscionable dreams.


	6. Chapter 6

And so began Rideaux Zek Rugievit's double life.

His days were spent at Spirius Corp, charged with finding Julius and retrieving the stolen Waymarker. Rideaux had certainly spent a morning or two considering the amusing opportunities at his disposal; would Julius even know what hit him, should Rideaux choose to lure him into a trap? And just how would Bisley reward him for serving up both Julius _and_ the final Waymarker, neatly wrapped and tied, ribbons, bows and all? It might be worth it to see the look of absolute betrayal dawning in Julius's eyes. The thought alone was enough to get Rideaux's blood burning.

But then, Julius would only betray him in return. How was he supposed to explain to Bakur that he'd known about this all along? How was he supposed to justify waiting this long before coming forward? Balanced on a precarious double-edged sword, Rideaux grudingly put all thoughts of betrayal aside. Besides, he'd been forced to admit to himself, even if he _did_ want to track Julius down, he hadn't the first clue where to begin. Typical Kresnik that he was, Julius had persisted in keeping _that_ particular card close to his chest.

Instead, having no other option, Rideaux had committed to the difficult task of _stalling_. Hapless DODA agents were set to pursuing one false rumour after another, engaging in pointless wild goose chases that led only to dead ends. Every evening the poor fools had no choice but to return empty-handed, and every evening Rideaux took ruthless pleasure in subjecting them to scathing ridicule and threats of unconscionable, life-ruining pay cuts.

For the first week, it had almost been fun. Then Bakur had gotten personally involved. Rideaux found himself abruptly on the back foot, forced to try and explain a complete lack of progress without sounding any more... _expendable_. Bisley had listened to his eloquent excuses with typical unreadable aplomb, and Rideaux had just about considered himself safe—but when he finally turned to leave, Bakur had called him back.

“Don't ever forget how many lives are at stake,” Bisley told him, and Rideaux knew one of Bakur's genial threats when he heard it. Biting his tongue on a dozen brittle responses, Rideaux had bowed and left.

Short-tempered and more shaken than he cared to admit, Rideaux had returned to work the next day prepared for more of the same—or worse. Instead, astonishingly, he had been greeted with what was supposed to be _good_ news. Julius had been sighted.

“We engaged him at the Sapstrath Seahaven,” The agent had explained, glowing with relieved pride at finally having something positive to report. “He managed to escape, but not before we injured him. We have a task force tracking him as I speak, and we're keeping a close eye on any fractured dimensions that open in the next twenty-four hours in case he tries to escape into them.” Looking supremely satisfied, the agent finished, “We've finally got him on the run, sir. He's not getting away this time.”

Except that Julius _did_ get away. Of course.

Even so, the sighting proved enough to satisfy Bakur's demand for results, or at the very least it seemed enough to keep him temporarily sated. Rideaux counted himself lucky for once in his life, and tried not to dwell on the strangeness of Julius letting himself be seen. Never even mind the ridiculous idea that a group of lowly field agents would somehow manage to injure him...

No. It wasn't worth thinking about. Too many strange questions, and he already had enough of those to be dealing with. Rideaux put it from his mind, and doggedly ignored the niggling sense that something wasn't _right_.

His days went on, exhausting and uneasy. His nights—after Rideaux had taken the train back to his apartment and paused only long enough to shower and order dinner—were consumed with trying to find little Elle's impossible cure.

The first evening had been wholly dedicated to organising the documentation, classifying each record and then arranging them into a semblance of order. The next evening had seen his work begin in earnest. At first, between glasses of wine, Rideaux had set about correlating all the existing information about previous attempts to dispel divergance catalysts. The results had proven less than conclusive, but at times extremely interesting. It took all of his willpower not to become distracted, and even then he would lose whole hours to fascinating and disastrous accounts of attempts gone wrong. Rideaux scoffed at the lists of casualties, and made note to avoid repeating their fatal mistakes.

Other accounts proved slightly more helpful, albeit pessimistically so. Night after night Rideaux poured over the records, and night after night he was forced to toss away useless records. His own ideas stared back at him from the unfamiliar pages, with some experiments erring so dangerously close to his own thinking that he'd been uncomfortable to discover the alarming outcomes.

Worst of all, the attempts that _had_ proven most effective all seemed to be things he felt incapable of replicating. Some documents talked of purifying the divergence, transferring the poisonous effect away from the host and purging the impurity, comparing it to something one author referred to as 'the miasma of souls'—exactly the sort of gibberish spirit talk he would usually dismiss out of hand. Except that it seemed to have almost _worked_. The subject had still died, just like all the others, but not before showing a marked improvement and surviving many months longer than anticipated. Rideaux read the case study with a critical eye, before disdainfully placing the document aside. Yet he found himself returning to it, increasingly perplexed, time and time again. Was there some way he could transfer the Chromatus effect away from Elle—transfer it to someone or something else?

Was this the beginning of an answer?

Hmph. First Kresniks, and now spirits. It seemed that someone somewhere was determined to test the limits of his already thinned patience. Not for the first time, Rideaux found himself wondering how he'd let _Julius_ of all people pull him into this mess in the first place.

Midnight came before respite ever did. Always a light sleeper and never one to retire early, Rideaux nonetheless found himself becoming more and more exhausted as the days dragged into weeks. Six hours of sleep turned into five, and then four, and yet he still caught himself lying unwillingly awake, his mind overcrowded with too many thoughts. Each morning found Rideaux needing to spend longer and longer in front of the mirror trying to disguise his increasingly haggard appearance—yet another damn reason to resent Julius for getting him wrapped up in this.

Julius...

They hadn't spoken since the fractured dimension, and Rideaux told himself he preferred it that way. Only during those final unguarded hours of the night, staring in blind-eyed exhaustion at the bedroom ceiling, did he find himself dwelling on the matter, too exhausted to keep the loathsome thoughts at bay. Too often he'd find himself replaying the words they'd exchanged—the catty barbs, the unflattering comparisons, and the terrible, misplaced compliments. All too awake and remembering the sight of Julius with blood in his hair, Rideaux wasn't sure which words to savour and which to regret. They all haunted him with equal distracting vehemence.

 

-

 

It had been an unsolicited message from Julius that first set everything into motion. Now, sitting at his desk and dozing on one propped elbow, it was a message from Julius that startled Rideaux back into wakefulness.

Surprised, Rideaux flicked his GHS open and immediately recognised the now-familiar number. Glancing around in sleep-deprived paranoia, Rideaux shuffled the device beneath his desk before clicking to open the message sent from Julius's untraceable GHS.

_Drellin. This afternoon. I need to talk to you. Urgent._

Rideaux rolled his eyes at the blunt demanding tone before considering the actual content. Why Drellin of all places? It would take an hour on the train, not factoring in the time it would take to reach the station... If he set out now, it would only be late morning when he arrived. Rideaux reached across his polished desk and pressed the intercom.

“Get Ivar in here,” He snapped brusquely, not bothering to wait for a response before turning back to read the message once more, narrowing his eyes at one word in particular. What was 'urgent' supposed to mean? It had been over a month since they'd last seen each other—had something changed? Or was this just typical obnoxious Julius Will Kresnik, throwing his weight around without a second thought to the consequences? Rideaux whittled the minutes away tapping his gloved fingers on the desk and mulling over the possibilities, distracted only when Ivar finally arrived.

“I'm here, sir,” He huffed, giving the distinct impression that he'd been running up stairs—quite a feat in a building serviced only by elevators. Rideaux decided not to ask, lest Ivar get the mistaken impression he actually cared.

“You're going to Drellin. Now.” Rideaux smiled the words, watching Ivar's face light up at a chance to get out of the office. Then, satisfyingly, his expression shifted toward one of nervous distrust—it almost made Rideaux proud. It seemed like poor young Ivar was finally starting to learn how things worked around here.

Ivar glanced around suspiciously, before raising one conspicious hand to cup his mouth as he loudly whispered, “Is this _official_ business?”

At least he was trying. Rideaux suppressed a sigh, and surreptitiously rubbed the sleep from his eyes. “It's an order from your superior, _junior agent_. That makes it official. Go to Drellin, and if you see anything suspicious, contact me. I'll be joining you in a few hours.”

Straightening up sharply, Ivar gave a nod—eyes once again shining brightly at this new mission. “Understood, sir!” He turned as if to go, paused, and then hesitantly turned back around. “Uh, by the way...”

Curious of what fresh idiocy was surely about to leave Ivar's lips, Rideaux raised a hand to indicate he was listening. Ivar nodded, seemed to fidget in a moment of nervousness, and then abruptly asked, “Are you all right?”

Rideaux recoiled so sharply his chair scraped back several inches, unpleasantly loud in the silence of his office. Ivar winced.

“ _What_?” He finally managed, in the same tone he might have adopted if Julius's revolting fat cat had just deposited a dead rodent at his feet. Ivar turned slightly pink, but struggled on regardless.

“You look kinda tired, that's all. Are you okay? Do you want me to make you a coffee before I go? You usually look so together, it's weird to see you s-so...” Belatedly he trailed to a stuttering halt, far too late in noticing the effect his words were having. Ivar gulped, gazing with wide panic-shot eyes at the black cloud that had spread over Rideaux's entire countenance. “That is, uh... See you later!”

Ivar, wisely, turned and fled. The office door closed behind him with an audible hiss.

Rideaux, teeth grinding together, rose to his feet and very nearly flung his GHS at the wall where Ivar had been. Instead he slammed it down against the metal desk, stalked across the office, and came to a stop before the window and its sprawling view of Triglyph. There, confident in the privacy afforded to the Director of Dimensional Affairs and knowing anyone who wanted to see him would surely knock first, he raised a self-conscious hand to his hair and peered irritably at his own bleary reflection. Was it really becoming obvious to other people just how tired he was? Obvious enough that even the oblivious Ivar could see it? Rideaux couldn't imagine anything more galling than the sort of gossip that would surely circulate about him if he let his standards fall any further.

Pulling a fine-toothed comb from his jacket pocket, Rideaux set to work. The idea that Ivar—worthless good-for-nothing _Ivar_ —was genuinely concerned for him was one that Rideaux refused to consider.

 

-

 

Barren as Elympios had become, Drellin remained cheerful and vibrant—at least compared to the other towns and cities Rideaux had visited. Basking in warm sunshine and bustling with friendly town life, it was exactly the sort of place that Rideaux usually found utterly revolting. He'd never felt any fondness for the place, just as he'd never felt fondness for anywhere that professed to be too close to nature. Compared to somewhere like Triglyph, Drellin was a utopia of natural life, and Rideaux found it all quite unpleasant.

But today, after a month of endless research and the neon glare of indoor lighting, the fresh air and vibrant sun proved surprisingly... nice. Rideaux walked out of the train station with an extra swing to his step, and gazed around in expectation.

No sign of Julius. Not surprising. No sign of Ivar. _That_ was slightly more annoying.

He'd expected to find Ludger and his entire merry band in attendance. After all, where was one annoying Kresnik without the other? Instead, conspicuous even across a crowd, Rideaux was surprised to see quite the enigmatic group. First stood Gaius, the stoic king of Rieze Maxia, arms folded and expression firmly set. Beside him was the man he'd appointed Prime Minister, and a famous face in his own right—Rideaux had no interest in historical accounts, and lesser still in the finer details of warfare, but even he knew the fearsome reputation that surrounded Rowen J. Ilbert.

The two were stood across the central plaza, perhaps enjoying a grand view of the canyons punctuating Drellin's local landscape. Above their heads floated the unsettling spirit woman, positioned over the vast drop without any apparent care for the danger it placed her in or the concerned stares she was receiving. Hair billowing with effortless beauty and legs delicately crossed, she sat perched on nothing more than the open air. Rideaux's lip curled. Spirits remained very high on his list of things not worth dealing with.

As he watched—still unseen from his vantage point across the wide central plaza—Prime Minister Rowen, straight backed and eminently patient, became more and more deeply involved in trying to demonstrate something to King Gaius on a GHS. Rideaux glanced around, expecting to see some other members of the do-gooder brigade, but no one else seemed to be present. And still no sign of Ivar.

Sighing, Rideaux made his way toward them. It was, after all, no coincidence that they should all be here at the same time. If Julius had called him, then he'd undoubtedly called _them_ too.

It was the spirit who noticed his approach, drawing the two men to attention as she raised her voice to sing out, “Look, Riddles is here.”

_Of course_. Rideaux grimaced around a smile, coming to a halt before the assembled group. Two foreign officials and a powerful spirit, precisely the sort of company he was surely least welcome in. “I'm so glad that's caught on. How wonderful it is that we've become such _close_ friends.”

For once, his sarcasm didn't seem to be wasted. One small pleasure of being in _reasonably_ intelligent company for a change. King Gaius, arms still folded, spoke in the deep baritone of a man accustomed to being listened to. “Am I to take it, then, that Julius summoned you here as well?”

“That would be correct, Your Majesty,” Rideaux replied with delicate and quite transparent formality, sketching a shallow bow in his direction. If the casual disregard bothered Gaius he certainly didn't show it, beyond a slight deepening of the perpetual frown.

“I would prefer you call me 'Erston',” He said, clearly expecting no argument.

It was the Prime Minister who clarified, hands clasped informally behind his back. “Erston is here unofficially, to observe the people of Rieze Maxia and Elympios in their daily lives. To do so as King Gaius would defeat the purpose. We would be most grateful if you would co-operate with that.”

“Right,” Rideaux drawled, lacing smoothly past both men to lean himself against the railing, elbows propped and long legs crossed at the ankle. “And I'm sure the humble citizens of Elympios are aware they're being spied on?”

Perhaps Ludger or one of the others would have been rattled by such an accusation. As it was, King Gaius only tilted his head a fraction, expression deeply thoughtful. “I do not consider my actions to be such.”

Somewhere behind him, the spirit woman's voice rang out. “Don't you humans have the right to go where you like? Gaius is simply doing the same thing.”

“Erston,” Gaius muttered softly, giving Rideaux the distinct impression that this was far from the first time she had made that mistake. “Thank you, Muzét, but you needn't trouble yourself with defending me from him.”

“Erston then,” The spirit—Muzét—sighed, drifting lower and swinging around into Rideaux's field of vision. Her expression seemed very much like a tamed animal being denied a favourite treat—not an expression Rideaux found at all comfortable when directed at himself. “I'm sorry, Erston. It's just, when I look at this unpleasant man, I feel angry. When I look at him, all I can think of is... Milla.”

“She wasn't _your_ Milla either, you know,” Rideaux interrupted, already tired of the direction this conversation was going. “How many times are you poor halfwits going to rake me over the coals for that? She was never supposed to be here. I got rid of her, you got your precious Lord of Spirits back. You really should be thanking me.”

“Oh, I understand that,” Muzét replied flippantly, continuing on even as Rideaux blinked in surprise. “I was glad to see Milla again, even knowing what that meant. I'm glad _you_ did it. Elle wouldn't have forgiven _me_ if I'd been forced to take action, and I've been working so hard to make everyone like me. I think the other Milla would have understood. She would have done the same for _her_ sister.”

Oblivious to the look of mild alarm coming from Rowen Ilbert at this series of statements, Muzét continued. “When I look at you, I think, 'He was willing to hurt Milla once. Why would I trust him not to hurt her again? I wish I could just kill him now. We're probably going to do it later anyway.'” She tilted her head, smiling at him with gentle ease. “But since spending more time around humans, I've learned that that wouldn't be appropriate.”

Rideaux listened to this with increasing disbelief, finally laughing as she reached the end of her little speech. “It's about time one of you learned how to be honest.” And how very like a proud, ignorant spirit to say such things so thoughtlessly. Rideaux's smirk sharpened. “Let's just hope _your_ precious Milla doesn't give me a reason, hm?”

“Indeed,” She smiled back at him, hair glinting strangely in the afternoon light.

Silence hung suspended between them, bringing with it a strange sense of violent kinship that Rideaux was privately startled to be sharing with someone he considered an enemy—and a _spirit_ , no less. Perhaps she, too, felt confused by the feeling, for suddenly she whirled upwards, reclining across the open air in a manner that seemed deceptively casual.

“How long until they get back?” She whined, kicking her feet in something gently reminiscent of a tantrum.

“Not long, I'm sure,” Rowen said soothingly; then, seeing Rideaux's expression, he explained. “Ludger, Elle, Milla and Jude have gone to visit Lake Epsilla. I expect they will return shortly. Ah—Ivar also chose to accompany them.”

_Of course he did_. Rideaux shrugged with one hand, turning to gaze out across the spectacular canyon view and privately taking note of yet another excuse to dock Ivar's pay. Send a boy to do a man's job, and of course the boy would go gallivanting off on a cosy field trip with his former friends. Why had he expected any different? “And I take it Julius hasn't arrived yet?” He asked, not bothering to turn back around.

“Not yet,” Gaius replied. Satisfied enough to wait, Rideaux gave the landscape his full attention.

It really _was_ a spectacular view, if you cared for such things. Sun-drenched cliffs plunged down to either side of the thin clear current, the flowing water that had once been a heaving river. Even within Rideaux's lifetime the waters here had dwindled, taking with it the livelihood of so many of Drellin's townsfolk. Daily life was becoming more and more of a struggle, the shallow river serving now as a grim reminder of just how desperate times were becoming for the citizens of Elympios.

Yet here he was, standing almost back to back with two of the greatest political minds Rieze Maxia had to offer. Did _Erston_ really have any idea what manner of future Elympios faced? Did _any_ of the Rieze Maxians? Dear Doctor Mathis would try to claim it was an important issue, and no doubt use the topic as yet another platform for his ridiculous spyrite research. Then there was _Alvin_ , nominally a Svent, even if he _had_ spent all the meaningful years of his life trapped in Rieze Maxia. Would _he_ try to claim some measure of understanding? Rideaux scoffed under his breath.

He would have been perfectly content to wait in silence rather than try to make any more tedious small talk with these people. Instead, annoyingly, Rowen Ilbert appeared at his elbow. “You're looking quite preoccupied,” The old man said, in the sort of quiet affable tone apparently reserved for grandfathers. “Would you care to share your thoughts?”

Rideaux gazed down over the cliffs and imagined how the interfering old busybody would look battered on the rocks below. The thought was gratifying enough to keep him playing nicely—Julius would have been so very proud of him.

Turning back around and resting one elbow comfortably against the rail, Rideaux smiled. “Would you really like to know?” He asked smoothly, knowing too well that the old man would be far too polite to decline now that he'd begun. Sure enough Rowen nodded calm encouragement. Never one to shy from an audience, Rideaux spoke. “No matter how hard you try—no matter what marvels of spiritual science you create and no matter how many short-sighted peace treaties you sign, Rieze Maxia and Elympios will never be friends.”

He'd expected Ilbert to have something to say, and he wouldn't have been surprised if the obnoxious spirit had decided to interject with her own unwelcome opinion. Instead it was King Gaius who strode forward, fixing him with a firm and impenetrable stare.

“I want to know why you think that,” The King said.

“What an honour,” Rideaux immediately sneered, gracing Gaius with another smug smirk. “To think the great _Erston_ would care what I think.”

“You're an important man,” Gaius responded, arms still solidly folded across his chest. “In a position of some considerable power. Your opinion would be an interesting reflection of the feelings of many in Elympios.”

“Oh, I don't know about that.” Privately, Rideaux couldn't help but feel a glimmer of satisfied pride at being identified as an important figure. Even so he shrugged and turned his gaze away, feigning humility. “I’m just another Elympion trying to get by.” Not quite able to resist the jab, he added, “You Rieze Maxian's might enjoy your little caste systems, but here in Elympios power goes to those who can earn it for themselves.”

Normally lacking in outward emotion, Gaius eyebrows shot up at this assessment. “Is that how you see me?” He asked, with a shade less demand in his voice than seemed usual. “A man who was simply born into power? A man who had everything handed to him?”

Rideaux smirked, delighted to have nettled a man who had seemed so difficult to unnerve. “Are you telling me I'm wrong, _Your Highness_?”

Gaius's expression shuttered closed, an abrupt coldness that reminded Rideaux alarmingly of Julius. “I am. It seems I was mistaken in believing your opinion held some merit.”

“Is that so?” Rideaux returned, smiling between his teeth at this particular turn in conversation. Muzét drifted lower, looking back and forth between the two of them with the eagerness of a carrion bird sensing death.

Lacking Jude Mathis, the eternal peace-keeper, it was Rowen who tactfully interjected himself into the conversation. “With our borders so recently opened, is it any wonder both sides have misconceptions about the other?”

“That's right,” Muzét added, head tilted thoughtfully to one side. “As the Great Spirit charged with protecting the Schism, it was my very purpose to keep you both as ignorant of one another as possible...”

Rideaux glanced over sharply, eyes narrowed at this unpleasant piece of information. Even King Gaius looked displeased at the reminder. Muzét seemed oblivious, something that Rideaux was coming to recognise as her natural state of being.

Rowen Ilbert, mostly unperturbed, laid a hand on Gaius's folded arm as he spoke. “I think there is much we can learn from this conversation. Don't you agree?”

“I do, and you are wise as ever to say so.” Gaius responded, nodding with respect to the man at his side. Then, seeming to speak more to himself than to those around him, he murmured, “To think that I should be perceived in such a way...”

Irritated by the self-pitying theatrics, Rideaux glanced away... and found himself immediately distracted by the approach of a familiar figure. Caught off-guard, Rideaux nearly swore—then strangled the sound, unwilling to let any of these ignorant fools see his reaction. Even so they heard his stifled response, following his gaze to see what had caught his eye. Rideaux hurriedly diverted his attention back to the group, watching for their responses; when he saw only the light of recognition dawn in their eyes, it took every effort not to openly curse them for their idiocy.

Instead he returned to staring at Julius. Staring at the dark smudges that stood evident beneath Julius's eyes, the unkempt ruffle to his golden hair, the scuff of his boots and the faint edge of dirt marring the edges of his jacket. It was all far too obvious to Rideaux's discerning eye. _I've known you too long, Julius. You can't hide from me_.

Julius, finally becoming aware of their fixed attention, seemed to straighten into a vague simile of his usual self. Rideaux grit his teeth, all the more frustrated that no one else seemed to be aware of what he was seeing. For once he actually _wished_ for Ludger's presence—surely _he_ wouldn't miss these changes in his precious older brother.

“Where's Ludger?” Julius asked as soon as he was close enough, almost as though he were somehow able to read Rideaux's mind. Then again, what _else_ was Julius ever talking about? Rideaux felt his lip curl in familiar irritation and turned sharply away, trying to school his reactions back into order before Julius or anyone else became aware of his distraction.

“Ludger has gone to Lake Epsilla,” Gaius responded, his voice once more back to its firm baritone register. “Elle and the others are with him. They'll return shortly.”

“Good,” Julius said, and to Rideaux's ear there seemed a hint of relief in his voice. “I'll need to talk to all of you. But first I want to speak to Rideaux alone. Do you mind?”

Rideaux glanced back over at the question only to find the request wasn't being directed toward himself. Instead it was Rowen who smiled a response, wearing an expression of calm sympathy and understanding. “Of course. Would you like us to wait for you at the Inn?”

“No,” Julius shook his head. “We'll go to the Inn. When Ludger and the others arrive, would you be kind enough to join us?”

“Of course,” Rowen said again, and as simple as that it was decided. Rideaux pulled a sour face at the overtly respectful tone Julius used toward the Rieze Maxian pair, and it seemed that Julius noticed his reaction for he responded with a sharp look that read _don't make me fight you._

Curious despite himself, Rideaux decided to play along—at least for now. They crossed the plaza without so much as exchanging a word, passing the elaborate central fountain and beneath the red and yellow parasols set out by various street vendors. Rideaux glanced around with passive disinterest, before turning his full attention back to the man walking before him. Was Julius favouring his left leg? It certainly seemed that way, especially as they ascended the stairs of the Drellin Inn. Rideaux swallowed the question, waiting for the right opportunity.

They turned at the top of the stairwell, entering a room that Julius had apparently already paid to have set aside for their use. As soon as the door was closed behind them Julius turned and slumped heavily at the desk—taking the only available chair in the process. Negligent of his poor ettiquette, he waved a distracted hand for Rideaux to sit himself on one of the two available beds. Rideaux narrowed his eyes, a sharp rejoinder already forming on his lips... but he held his tongue, crossing the room to sit without complaint, perching on the edge of a single bed. If he wanted to know what had happened to Julius, then he'd have to play this carefully. Starting with an argument wasn't very likely to get his most _favourite_ Kresnik into a very talkative mood.

Homely and quaint, the room held none of the self-indulgence Rideaux had come to expect of any respectable Elympion establishment. It did, however, contain several items of wooden furniture—something of a rarity in Elympios. The aesthetic, then, seemed to be erring toward the Rieze Maxian tourist clientelle. Rideaux appreciated the understated luxury hinted in the construction, but all in all found himself more than ready to return to _real_ civilization.

Julius, seated at the desk and massaging his temples with the thumb and forefinger of his ungloved hand, seemed unlikely to initiate the conversation any time soon. Rideaux rolled his eyes. _I'll start, then._ “Julius, Julius, _Julius_ ,” He sighed, waiting for his distracted former colleague to look up before continuing, “What _have_ you been doing to yourself?”

Of all the response he might have expected, humour wasn't one of them. Julius's laughter was low and inward, a sort of rumble in his chest that failed to make it to the surface. It didn't reach his eyes, either, although they did seem to brighten slightly, a layer of weariness shedding away under familiar scrutiny. “Nothing much,” He replied, and cobbled together the sort of straight-backed rigidity Rideaux expected of him. He almost looked like himself.

No, not quite. He looked like himself fifteen years ago, the Julius Will Kresnik who used to accompany him on ill-advised night-time trips into the backstreets of Duval, drinking too much and thinking too little. Too many times they'd come to blows, forced to go to work the next morning heavy-headed and moody, sporting bruised knuckles and battered egos that had nothing to do with the fractured dimension they'd destroyed the previous day. Rideaux blinked at the sudden surge of memory, surprised to find himself nosatalgic for the drunken brawling misery of their shared teenage years.

At least back then he'd known who Julius _was_.

Annoyed at himself, Rideaux shook his head, arms folding and expression narrowing into an unimpressed glare. “Don't give me that. You look like a wreck. Physically _and_ emotionally. I'm embarrassed to be seen with you.”

“Then it's a good thing no one will see us, isn't it?” Now his scowl was firmly back in place, the familiar persona back on display once more. “I don't have time to waste with your nonense. This isn't a social visit, Rideaux.”

“When have they ever been?” Rideaux replied breezily, but nonetheless found himself switching to match Julius's serious posture, momentarily distracted from the matter of his dishevelled appearance. “What's going on?”

Julius was silent for a long moment, expression deeply thoughtful before he finally said, “Time's running short.”

“The little dumpling has gotten worse, has she?” Rideaux tilted his head, smiling his bland lack of concern, waiting to provoke a reaction. Julius only stared at him, silent. Rideaux sighed, continuing, “So first you give me an impossible task, and now you want to bump up the impossible deadline? You truly are a peach, Julius.”

“It's not by choice,” Julius responded, drumming his gloved fingers against the table. “I know this hasn't been easy for you. You're not the only one suffering, Rideaux. It might be good for you to try remembering that for a change.” Rideaux, prepared to respond with an acidic retort, was forced to glare as Julius continuing talking over him. “I'm not here for excuses, just a simple answer. Yes or no. Can you do this, or not?”

“I can do this,” Rideaux immediately snapped, annoyed to find himself so easily goaded into making such an appallingly unfounded declaration. “But can I do it _tomorrow_? No. If it's a miracle you've been waiting for, you should probably consider asking Origin.” Inspired into cruelty, Rideaux smirked. “Why not make _her_ your soul bridge? She's going to die anyway.”

Julius, usually so able to maintain his frustrating veneer of cool indifference, clenched his jaw alarmingly, eyes blazing behind his glasses. “Say that again,” He ground out, slow and deliberate, “And I swear in her name, it will be _you_ who carries us to Canaan.”

“ _Really_ ,” Rideaux snarled in return, feeling that intoxicating buzz of excitement that always came with pulling the worst out of Julius. He watched with venomous attention as the anger peaked and then faded from Julius's worn expression—too late to take the words back. Rideaux smiled, his voice a soft accusing poison. “Now _there's_ a threat I never thought you'd make. I suppose the apple really doesn't fall far from the tree.”

The memory of their elevator ride replayed satisfyingly in Rideaux's mind, the ghost of Julius's unwelcome comparison easing as the same unwelcome horror dawned in Julius's own expression. _You—and Bakur._

“That—nngh...” Julius turned abruptly back to the desk, retreating into that same gesture of rubbing his temples. Rideaux watched, taking unsympathetic pleasure in the sight, before noticing the strange interplay of Julius's hands—the way his gloved fingers stayed rested on the table surface, the way he favoured the other. Rideaux, eyes narrowed, was about to speak when Julius's irritable muttering interrupted his thoughts. “I didn't come here to argue with you. _Again_. We don't have time for this.”

With a sharp glance, Julius raised his voice, tone firm and unyielding once more. “You think you can do this. What happened to it being impossible?”

Rideaux scoffed. “You've become very good at hearing the things you want to hear, haven't you?” Julius didn't respond, using that tired old tactic of silence to lure him into saying something further—Rideaux resented himself for letting it work every single time. “People have been trying this for decades, Julius. Longer than that. Doctors, scientists, Spirius's own dimensional specialists, they've spent every day of their working lives facing this problem, and they've all _failed_.” Rideaux shook his head, gaze turning toward the sunlit window. “But some have done better than others. And that makes me think there's an answer.”

Shrugging his thin shoulders, Rideaux gazed vaguely upon the view of Drellin's skyline. “Sadly for you and I, Bisley's going to have us both in the ground before I get any closer to finding out what that answer _is_. All my best ideas have been tried before. The only thing I have is...” Rideaux thought once more of the purification attempts, the miasma of souls and his own calculatrics artes, the implications... then shook his head sharply. “No, forget it. You wouldn't like it—I promise.”

Abruptly tired of explaining himself, Rideaux tilted his head and smiled at Julius. “Did you know, some fools once tried to summon Chronos?”

Julius frowned, apparently successfully distracted. “Why would they?”

“I asked myself the same thing.” Rideaux continued smiling, glad to finally be leading the conversation. “The poor half-wits thought that, if they could only _talk_ to dear Chronos, they could make him understand just how unfair Origin's Trial was. They intended to beg for their lives, ask to be spared the curse of the Chromatus. It's quite funny, really.”

Eyebrows raised in disbelief, Julius finally lowered his hand once more, shaking his head. “So they decided to throw humanity to the mercy of the same Great Spirit who condemned it in the first place. Idiots.”

_And there's that family resemblance again_. This time Rideaux kept the observation to himself, reluctant to reopen a wound neither of them wanted touched again. Instead he shrugged, before casually continuing on with the story. “Unsurprisingly, their plan was a complete failure. The summoning was, by all accounts, a catastrophic disaster. But the interesting part is that Chronos showed up anyway.”

“Then how can they say it failed?” Julius asked. Rideaux gave him a patronising smile, privately considering the observsation.

“Chronos himself claimed that their summoning was rudimentary, and would never work on a Great Spirit such as himself. But who knows? Perhaps you're right. Perhaps he lied, and simply didn't want to admit that lowly humans had succeeded in calling him forth. It doesn't really matter. He killed them all anyway—the casualties were quite extensive. No one has tried again since.”

“I can imagine,” Julius replied, rubbing his shoulder as if in memory of something. Rideaux cocked his head in askance. Instead Julius responded with a question of his own. “What did you mean earlier? You said you had an idea I wouldn't like.”

“That isn't what I said,” Rideaux snapped, but nonetheless found himself pausing in consideration. _Do you really want to know, Julius?_ “It's barely an idea. A theory of a theory. Not even that.”

“Talk to me, Rideaux,” Julius replied, bringing Rideaux vividly back to that first day, sitting in the Film Noir—the strange day this had all begun. “Sound this idea off me. We don't have time to look for alternatives.”

Stern-faced and bright-eyed, gloved fingers once again tapping an uneven rhythm on the tabletop, Julius stared at him in expectation. Rideaux turned his own thoughts inward, piecing together the information, the documents, his own thoughts and observations, the work he'd done with spyrix, his own successful summoning of Maxwell... “It's barely an idea,” He repeated after a long silence, fixing Julius with a narrow-eyed look. “And you _won't_ like it. That much I can promise you.”

“I'm listening.”

_Don't say I didn't warn you._ Rideaux sighed, then smiled, turning the words over in his mind before speaking. “If there's a way to completely eliminate the effects of the Chromatus, I haven't found it. Elympion methods have failed, and so have Rieze Maxian.”

“Wait,” Julius said, apparently unconcerned with Rideaux's frustration at being interrupted. “Rieze Maxian's have tried? How? They wouldn't have known anything about the trial. Kresnik's descendants—”

“Were all trapped in Elympios, yes, I know.” Rideaux rolled his eyes, stabbing a sharp finger in Julius's direction as though scolding a schoolboy for speaking out of turn. “The _methods_ were Rieze Maxian, the practicioners were all Elympions. They travelled to fractured dimensions and stole ideas from the oblivious Rieze Maxian populations, adapting them to suit their own needs. Such was their desperation to find a cure. Sound familiar? Now are you going to let me finish, or do you have any more asinine questions to interrupt me with?”

Julius, stoic and flat, said nothing.

“Thank you.” Rideaux stopped to brush back his hair; only when Julius began to look truly impatient did Rideaux continue. “As I was saying: if there is a method of removing all traces of the Chromatus's effect, I haven't found it. However...” Then he paused again, weighing out his words and wondering how best to express the concept that had been forming in the back of his mind over the last several weeks. “It would be a little like a blood transfusion. Except, how to say this... quite a bit more lethal for the recipient.”

Julius was an intelligent man, when he wasn't being an imbecile. Rideaux watched him mull over the words, drawing out the meaning. “You're saying you could transfer the divergence to someone else?”

“I'm saying it's a _possibility_ ,” Rideaux immediately corrected, blunt and snappish, quick to stamp out any hope before it could spring too far ahead of itself. “A theory of a theory, like I said. And it has problems.”

Yet Rideaux rose to his feet, more enthused than he'd expected to be now that he finally had a chance to discuss the results of his nightly research. Julius watched him, attention rapt—something else Rideaux was quick to savour. “Consider this in terms of host and recipient. Dear little Elle, of course, is the host.” Rideaux help up a hand for each, with one set higher than the other—as he spoke he lowered one and raised the other, indicative of a tipping scale. “If I were to go ahead and finalise this procedure, the chromatus effect would pour from the host and enter the recipient. The host would be cured—” He gave the raised hand a celebratory flourish— “But the recipient...” Shrugging, Rideaux clenched his fist, trusting Julius to draw the right conclusion. “Maybe it would save Elle, but you'll be condemning someone else in the process.”

Rideaux folded his arms. “If we're getting _our_ turns as well, that means we need three victims. And it gets worse.”

Julius looked up at him, expression grim. “Go on.”

“Not just anyone could accept the transfusion. A normal Elympion wouldn't have a chance. Rieze Maxian's and their juicy mana lobes might last a few seconds longer, but they'd still die before the procedure could be finished, leaving the host no better off than when they started.” Rideaux began tapping one heel against the floor, a sense of anxiety seeping into his actions even as his tone remained aloof and unconcerned. “It would have to be someone from the Kresnik line. Someone already attuned to the effects brought on by Chromatus use. Or maybe a powerful spirit.” Rideaux shrugged again, washing the words away with a breezy wave of his hand. “It might work, but who knows? I need more time.”

Voice soft and his gaze focused inward, Julius shook his head. “Take a life to save a life. I should have expected this from you.”

Rideaux bristled, glowering. “Excuse me?”

“Sit down, Rideaux,” Julius replied, expression still abstract and distracted. Annoyed, and with the pervasive sense that something was about to go terribly wrong, Rideaux found himself complying.

Looking back later, it was all much too obvious. Rideaux wondered if he'd known all along. Maybe, somewhere inside, he'd known how Julius would respond to the idea. Maybe that was why he hadn't pursued the theory any sooner, maybe that was why he'd kept placing that particular document aside and trying to find some other idea, some _better_ idea.

Maybe that was why, when Julius finally looked up, an expression of absolute acceptance of his face, Rideaux already knew what he was going to say.

“I'll do it,” Julius said.

“Do what?” Rideaux heard himself ask, though he knew exactly what Julius meant.

“I'll do it,” Julius repeated, and still he sat with that same infuriating expression of peaceful calm. “If it will save Elle, I'll be the recipient.”

The words dropping between them seemed a hundred miles away, but Rideaux spoke anyway, slow and caustic. His blood was beating in his ears, his teeth were bared in an impatient snarl. “Did you miss the part about it _killing you?_ Or could it be that you really are this stupid? It can't cure you if you're dead, my dear dimwit.”

“I don't care,” He said, and Rideaux hated him for meaning it. “I can't keep covering for Ludger. Time's running out.”

Time time _time_. Too late it clicked into place—Rideaux's glower deepened. “It's _you_ that's running out of time, not her. Your condition, it's getting worse.” Rideaux was rising before he'd even finished considering his actions, irritable hurried words burbling off his lips, “Let me see, idiot, maybe there's something—”

“ _Don't bother,_ ” Julius snapped, in a tone harsh and cutting enough to pierce through the white noise of Rideaux's suddenly overactive mind. Rideaux sank back down slowly, glaring at Julius with accusing eyes and nervous hands. Julius hardly seemed to notice, beyond a hint of belated appreciation sinking into his words. “There's nothing you can do. It doesn't matter now. The last thing this body can do is save Elle. That's good enough.” Then, softly, barely audible, “It's more than I deserve.”

“Right,” Rideaux drawled, forcing the frivilous unconcerned mockery back into his tone. “And I'm sure your Ludger agrees.”

It was a predicatable low blow, but it seemed to reach its target all the same. Julius exhaled heavily, visibly deflating at the mention of his brother. Unprompted, in a voice deep and resigned, he began to explain. “If Ludger had carried on following Bisley's orders, Elle's condition would have worsened too quickly. I couldn't let that happen.”

“So you've been going to fractured dimensions in his place?”

Julius nodded, and Rideaux found himself once more acutely aware of all those things he'd noticed before—just how worn Julius appeared, the exhaustion ringing his eyes, the greying edge of his white jacket. All the obvious signs of overexertion, the signs of a body reaching its final limit. “What else could I do? It was the only option. Ludger doesn't know.”

_Of course he doesn't_ , Rideaux nearly snapped, almost biting his tongue in the heat of brittle irritation. _He'd stop you if he knew, and you couldn't have **that**._

Oblivious, caught up in his own stupid tragedy, Julius continued. “Swapping the GHS seemed to work once, so why not do it again? Ludger meets me, gives me his GHS, and I destroy the catalyst. Those fools at Spirius trying to track his every move have no idea.” He chuckled, low and ironic. “It's quite a design flaw. I suppose I should thank you both for bringing it to my attention. Maybe if I ever had a chance to develop another upgrade...”

“Maybe you will,” Rideaux said, breezy and dismissive, and continued to chatter blandly over the stubborn expression that immediately settled back over Julius's face. “I've been waiting for the latest model, you know. It's overdue. I don't think I'll be letting you die until then. Bad luck, former Director. You'll have to martyr yourself some other day.”

Julius's scowl darkened. “How many times are you going to make me say this? We don't have any other options. It's now or never.”

“'Never' it is, then.” Teeth grit on a sickly smile, Rideaux pulled out the same laboured defense they'd both been throwing at one another for years. “If you die now, who's going to become the soul bridge? Too bad, Julius—I still need you.”

“No, Rideaux.” Julius stared right at him, something almost mournful behind that implacable gaze. “I can't fight that battle for you.”

It was an astonishingly stupid thing to say, and maybe Julius knew it too, for almost straight away his expression seemed to harden. Rideaux felt an uncomfortable lurch of emotions in his chest and chased after the only one he knew how to contend with—disgust. He scoffed, derisive and unimpressed, shaking his head and pushing back his hair, swallowing against the hideous dryness that was once again interfering with his ability to speak. “Please _,_ Julius. When have I ever needed you to fight my battles? When have I ever needed you for _anything_?”

“But you need me now?” Julius snapped in turn, and Rideaux cursed himself for walking right into something so obvious. “We're doing this, Rideaux. You're going to do this. If you won't do it for Elle, then do it for yourself. As long as it works, I really don't care what you tell yourself.”

It might have been a stalemate, then, or it might even have come to blows. Rideaux, teeth gritted against too many competing responses, would have welcomed the opportunity to make things simple.

Instead, echoing through the tense hush, came a knock at the door.

“Julius?” Called a familiar voice. Rideaux had never heard a more perfectly obnoxious clarion of hope.

“Ludger,” Julius muttered under his breath, the colour that had been rising in his cheeks suddenly draining away. Rideaux watched closely, still uncomfortably aware of how dry his mouth had become, how rapidly his heart was beating in his chest.

Julius must have called for the others to enter, for Rideaux found himself watching them pile into the room. There was Elle, looking just a little brighter than usual, chattering with Ivar about some banality or another. Ivar glanced over at him and seemed to flush with guilt or shame or some other red-faced emotion; distracted by the constriction in his chest, Rideaux found he really couldn't have cared less.

Had he remembered his medication that morning? He must have forgotten. Why else would his body be reacting like this? Rideaux clenched his fists and took a deep breath, forcing himself to focus on the group.

Milla Maxwell entered next, accompanied overhead by her unpleasant spirit sister. Then the rest followed, Mathis and Gaius and Rowen and finally fat waddling Rollo. Julius greeted them all with stoic calm, too tired or too emotionally taut to stand up and face them properly.

Save Elle, kill Julius. How would Ludger feel about such a proposition?

_He'll feel exactly how Julius tells him to feel._ _Just like he always does._

_Unless **I** get there first._

Julius's gloved hand still rested against the smooth wooden surface of the desk, one finger tapping out a quiet thoughtless rhythm. A nervous habit developed from the discomfort of the divergence catalyst burned into his flesh? By now Rideaux had become sure of it.

He had one chance to make this happen. Rideaux rose to his feet, the smirk already threatening to reveal itself.

Julius had always been the stronger one, but Rideaux was faster. All too distracted with greeting one another with their usual vapid courtesies, not one of the do-gooders was paying attention to him. Stepping forward with unerring resolve, Rideaux swung his hand into a clenched fist and brought it down, hard, to crunch across the knuckles of Julius's gloved hand.

Ludger reacted a second too late, calling out in alarm at the sight of someone attacking his precious older brother. Then he choked on his own warning, whirling around to stare in horror at the sound of Julius's hoarse bellow of pain. Rideaux hurried back a few elegant steps, expecting some swiping attempt at retaliation, but instead Julius was too caught up in the inordinate pain of something striking his catalyst-marred skin. He curled in on himself, clutching the gloved hand to his chest, tilting from the chair to hit the floor on his knees. Ivar was staring slack-jawed, Elle holding her hands over her mouth in terrified astonishment.

This wasn't over yet—he still had to act fast. Rideaux pointed at Ludger, snapping his fingers to catch the poor idiot's attention. Then the whole room turned to look at him, an audience rife with fury and indignation. Rideaux soaked it all in, savouring especially the impotent fury of a Julius yet unable to articulate words.

“Ask him about the glove.” Rideaux spoke in a voice made musical with the lightness of his cruel pleasure, unable to suppress an almost manic grin at this golden opportunity finally spread out before him. _You've had your chances, Julius. You can't say I didn't give you chances. **Someone** has to tell this poor bastard the truth._ “Ask him why he's in such a rush. Ask him, Ludger, how it is that little Elle is becoming a divergence catalyst but _he_ isn't. Doesn't that seem _strange_ to you? Ask him what the soul bridge is—ask him how to get to Canaan. Ask your _dear_ brother—”

“ _Rideaux_!” Julius finally roared, beginning to struggle back to his feet, and Rideaux recognised a promise of violence when he heard it. Sweeping a generous bow in Julius's direction, Rideaux winked.

Then there was a blade at his throat. Rideaux raised his hands in a gesture of surrender then slowly straightened back to his full height, smirking a challenge at the man who held the sword. King Gaius met his gaze with ruthless calm, hands steady and poised on the hilt of his katana. Julius finally managed to stand, still clutching his hand and snatching it furiously away when Jude Mathis cautiously approached to offer help. Rideaux laughed at the sight, utterly unperturbed by the supposed threat posed by _Erston_.

“What's going on?” Milla Maxwell demanded sternly, one hand rested on the hilt of her own sword and alert eyes sweeping everyone in the room. Rideaux smiled sarcastic indulgence at her, watching the glittering coldness of her unusual eyes harden at his unwelcome attention.

“Trust our lovely Miss Maxwell to cut straight to the heart of the matter. What you just witnessed is another side-effect of the divergence catalyst. Give little Elle a poke in the neck if you don't believe me.”

“Hey!” Elle instantly cried, ducking low and covering the back of her neck in glowery defence. That revealing reaction was enough to set Rideaux laughing again—obviously she'd already learned the hard way just how tender that blackened flesh could be. If they hadn't believed him before, they surely would now. Rideaux grinned. _Nothing like the honesty of a child to lend a bad man a good name._

Ludger stared at Elle with wide, haunted eyes, the whites showing all the way around. For the barest instant Rideaux caught himself actually feeling _sorry_ for the poor idiot. Then Ludger turned to look at Julius, and his expression of abject horror hardened into something like accusation. Rideaux exalted at the sight. _At_ _ **last**_ _._

“Julius,” Ludger said, in a voice that trembled. “It's because of the scar, right? That's why you wear that, isn't it?”

“Ludger...” Julius began, hollow-voiced. His broad shoulders were rigid and set, yet defeat seemed to be rolling off him in waves as he finally let his gloved hand drop back to his side. So concerned with the sight of his devastated brother, Julius seemed to forget all about his previous desire for revenge. Rideaux, feeling suddenly invisible, happily dropped the tiny candle of sympathy he'd been holding in Ludger's name.

“Can you take it off?” Ludger asked, his soft voice growing weaker even as his fists clenched with resolve at his sides. “Just show me, okay? I won't ever ask again.”

Standing silently by the window, Rowen J. Ilbert watched in silent sorrow. Above him, drifiting, Muzét observed with detached concern, head tilting from side to side whenever someone spoke. Jude Mathis still hovered at Julius's elbow, looking desperate for some way to help. Elle had slunk over to stand beside Ivar of all people, who'd subsequently knelt down to place a reassuring hand on her shoulder.

Rideaux, equally fascinated by the outcome of this emotional stand-off, found himself suddenly becoming aware once again of the harried beat of his heart, the constriction in his chest. His medicine, he _must_ have forgotten it... why hadn't he taken his _damn_ medicine...

And then, distraction on top of distraction, Julius broke the silence. “I'm sorry, Ludger,” was all he said.

Ludger turned, storming out of the room in an undignified rush. Elle yelped at the sight, Jude calling after him and taking a hesitant step forward, unsure whether to follow. Then Julius rushed past him, pausing in the doorway only long enough to fix Rideaux a look of unspeakable loathing and snarl, “ _This isn't over, you son of a bitch._ ”

Then he, too, was gone, the thunder of his footsteps dashing down the stairs after Ludger echoing back into the room behind him. Elle yelped again and began to chase after them both, only to find herself suddenly plucked into the air by Ivar.

“Hey! Let me go, stupid! Ludger needs me!” She tried ineffectually to beat him with her tiny fists, squirming wildly. “Glasses Guy's in trouble! I need to help!”

But Ivar kept her aloft, holding her up with an easy strength that Rideaux privately found surprising. “I'm sorry,” He told her, and he genuinely seemed to mean it, expression sympathetic and kind. “This is one of those 'brother' things. You've gotta let them do this. Just like you needed to go to Epsilla for your dad, right?”

She stopped struggling then, glaring for a moment longer before subsiding gracelessly to hang in Ivar's grip. Gently, he placed her down. “I _guess_ that makes sense,” She muttered, sniffing, before crouching down to stroke the bristling Rollo. Rideaux had the sense that he'd missed another piece of the ongoing puzzle that was Elle The Brat's Emotional Wellbeing.

Not that it mattered to him. Hands spread wide and feeling supremely satisfied with himself, Rideaux took a cautious step back—Gaius let him, sheathing his unwieldy sword and crossing his arms once more. His expression held all the same steel as his sheathed blade, and Rideaux found himself fixed now under that iron scrutiny.

“I believe you owe us all an explanation.”

“Do I?” Rideaux replied flippantly, one hand already settling comfortably at his hip in a gesture of casual dismissal. “Julius is becoming a divergence catalyst. That's really all there is to it.”

Elle, still crouched on the floor, chewed her lip miserably. “Why wouldn't he tell us?”

“Why do you think?” Rideaux replied, more caustic than he'd intended—he jerked his head in the direction of the open door. “To protect Ludger, or so he's been telling himself. He's got some very troubling ideas about _love_ , our poor Julius.”

“Something _you_ wouldn't understand,” Maxwell snapped impatiently, striding forward to take command of the conversation. “What about the rest of it? You said something about Canaan. Tell us what you know.”

From behind her Rowen Ilbert finally stepped forward. “Could you tell us more about this soul bridge?”

Unprepared for the barrage of questions he'd intended for Julius, Rideaux gave the assembled group a withering glare, shifting his weight and folding his arms comfortably across his body. “ _Really_. He hasn't told you anything, has he? What a world this is, where your allies keep secrets and your enemies hold all the answers.” Sighing, he nodded toward the beds and chair, giving them an opportunity to sit. “Make yourselves comfortable, children. Uncle Rideaux has a long story to share.”

Soon enough they were all resettled—Rowen, Milla and Gaius each maintaining watchful vigil from their chosen corners of the room, while Jude Mathis sat down on a bed next to Ivar and Elle, the two young men exchanging wary nods as they settled to either side of the girl. Muzét settled in the empty space between Gaius and Maxwell as Rideaux took a place opposite them, leaving Rollo in prime position to hop up onto the chair previous occupied by Julius. There he sat, squinting a sleepy feline glare. Rideaux did his best to ignore the baleful look.

They asked, and he answered. He explained how Julius had been visiting fractured dimensions to protect Elle, and the strain that Julius had been placing on his own chromatus-ravaged body in the process. Elle had looked queasy at that point, and Rideaux had generously switched topics. He'd explained the soul bridge, and the sacrifice of Kresnik life required to reach Canaan. He explained how he and Julius had always known, ever since they were children. He explained how they had competed with one another, speaking flippantly of the innumerable dimensions they'd destroyed, and the casual brutality with which they'd acted.

It was strange to speak of it so openly, and especially with _these_ people. When Jude Mathis had the nerve to gaze at him with open sympathy, Rideaux scoffed.

“You needn't look at me like that,” He said, sweeping Mathis a sardonic bow. “After all, _my_ problems go back much earlier than Bisley Bakur. Try asking your father.” Pleased with the perplexed frown that creased Jude's forehead, he continued on. “I don't know how you all intend to reach Canaan, but you had best start deciding which lucky Kresnik you want to put on the chopping block. And let me warn you—I'm not the volunteering sort.”

In the silence that followed, Elle slowly raised her hand. Rideaux smiled indulgently, encouraging her to speak.

“So you're a Kresnik too, right?” She asked, speaking the words with cautious deliberation and looking none too pleased with the prospect. Rideaux nodded, wondering if she was going to have the thoughtless audacity to suggest sacrificing him. Instead, disgruntled, she crossed her arms and looked up with renewed skepticism. “You're not _really_ my uncle, are you?”

Ivar snorted, then choked when Rideaux shot him a venomous look. Elle, seeing his expression and apparently taking it for an answer, breathed a sigh of relief.

“So Julius is running out of time...” Muzét said aloud suddenly, apparently still mulling over the conversation. “That must be why he said meeting today was so urgent.”

The others nodded grimly, each with their own thoughtful expression. Rideaux felt a queer pang of emotion at the sight—something perversely close to _envy_. Annoyed, he almost missed Maxwell's words.

“Unfortunately, he is not the only one. I, too, cannot remain here much longer. It seems that Julius is correct. We don't have time to search for other options—we must act.”

“What are you suggesting?” Jude asked, and if there was an edge of fire in his voice it seemed to be something that Maxwell appreciated. They stared at one another for a long moment, some unspoken communication passing between them.

Then, even more pathetic than usual, Ivar spoke. “Lady Milla, pardon me for—I mean, sorry for asking, but... what do you mean, you can't stay?”

Rideaux straightened back to attention, surprised that Ivar had actually found a pertinent question worth asking—even if he was probably asking it for the wrong reasons. Maxwell's expression seemed to soften slightly as she looked at her former handmaid, even as she spoke with the same firmness that drove everything she said. “I am needed in the Spirit World. You understand that.”

It was Jude Mathis who gave a real explanation, turning to look at Ivar with a subdued expression of his own. “Milla's body isn't human. That is, not like it used to be. It's held together by mana. She can't maintain it for long. Even if she wanted to stay, she can't.”

_Someone already attuned to the effects brought on by Chromatus use. Or maybe a powerful spirit..._

It was Maxwell herself who noticed the way he was staring, and she lifted her chin in an unspoken challenge. Rideaux leaned forward, aware of how he must appear to them—sharp-eyed and leering as he stared her up and down, finally feeling that last satisfying spark of inspiration falling into place. “That? Is _fascinating_.” He offered her his hand, smirk deepening. “Care to let me examine you?”

“Hey!” Ivar cried indignantly, leaping to his feet to stand scowling at her side, all previous allegiances apparently forgotten. “Don't talk to her that way!”

Jude Mathis looked equally perturbed, squaring his chest in a way that might almost have been halfway threatening coming from anyone else.

Surrounded by her flappable entourage, Milla Maxwell stood resolute and unconcerned. “You truly are vexing,” She said, one fisted hand settling to rest on her hip. “You continually provoke the people aroung you. It's quite aggravating.” Yet she narrowed her eyes in consideration, a gesture Rideaux found himself mirroring in return. She was smart—smart enough to question. “Why do you ask?”

Ivar made a strangled sound, turning a curious pink colour.

Rideaux considered her question for a short moment, responding before Ivar's indignation had time to fester any further. “Tell me, Maxwell, Lord of Spirits. Just how far are _you_ willing to go? What would _you_ give to save precious Elle's life?”

He let the emphasis speak for itself, the ghost of Milla's fractured counterpart hanging unspoken between them. For a fleeting second Maxwell almost seemed to pale—then she glanced toward Elle, and Rideaux saw her make a decision. “So long as the outcome was assured, I would give my life to protect her.”

Rideaux smiled.

“Fortunately, I'm not asking for your life. Only your body.”


	7. Chapter 7

By the time Ludger and Julius returned, it was all decided.

Milla proved every bit as stubborn as Rideaux had known she would be, persuading her companions one by one to accept her choice. Some of them tried to convince her with logic, weighing the odds and pleading for safer alternatives. More than once someone suggested some radical, new plan, always something naïve or hopeless or riddled with holes, and every time Rideaux made sure to interject. His criticisms weren't welcome, but each time he spoke them he saw Milla's resolve strengthen, and so he continued. What did their anger matter to him? He was never going to win any popularity contests with the do-gooders anyway.

They eventually went downstairs to the Drellin Inn common room, all the better to gather round and discuss their choices. Someone must have contacted Ludger's missing companions; Alvin, Leia and Elize arrived with the setting sun, the two girls instantly throwing themselves at their precious Maxwell and begging for her to reconsider. Rideaux watched with a cynical eye as Milla pet their hair and asked each of them to be brave for her—when he noticed Alvin watching _him_ in turn, Rideaux smiled sardonically and waved.

Finally, they stopped arguing with the immovable Maxwell, each member of her sizeable entourage subsiding into miserable acceptance. Rideaux kept to himself after a while, pulling out his GHS and tapping hurried notes while ideas were still forming fresh in his mind. No one disturbed him.

Every time the Inn door opened Rideaux sat up, sharp and ready, but it was well into the evening before the Kresnik brothers reappeared. Rideaux's first impression was... frustration, immediate frustration to see them walk back into the common room side by side. So Ludger had forgiven him, then. So easily. Rideaux returned to his notes, scowling at the words he'd just written. Of _course_ Ludger had forgiven him. Had he really expected any less?

The sudden rush of small feet darting past his table was the next thing to provoke his attention. He looked up just in time to see Elle throw herself at Ludger. Then she turned, and Rideaux was astonished to find her pointing an accusing finger in his direction, furious tears spilling down her cheeks.

“Ludger, he's doing it again!” She wailed. “He's killing Milla again!”

-

A few words in the right ear and a small sum of money changing hands, and the Drellin Inn common room was soon cleared of patrons. Ludger proved himself a somberly experienced hand with bribing privacy—it so happened that little over a month ago they'd commandeered this same space, immediately after returning from a certain fractured dimension. Rideaux imagined little Elle had probably been crying _then_ too.

Once everyone had settled Rideaux stood, taking to the metaphorical stage once again. This time Milla Maxwell joined him, one ally he'd never expected to have on his side. She stood with her arms folded, an expression of soft ferocity on her face. Her choice was hurting them, and she knew it, but she wasn't going to back down. Rideaux didn't bother to hide his appreciation. If there was one thing he liked it was a woman who knew her own mind. That it conveniently aligned with his needs was only an added bonus.

Elle was seated on Ludger's lap, angry sobs now tamped down to the occasional quiet sniffle. Jude was seated next to Ivar, the pair annoyingly united in their desire to protect Milla, yet comically awkward in their agreement. There was a history there—perhaps one day he'd have Ivar tell him all about it. The rest of them had gathered around, and there, in a quiet space at the back of the room, was Julius.

And what a disappointment _that_ was turning out to be.

Julius had promised retribution—a threat Rideaux had been more than willing to attend to. Instead, Julius had barely spoken a word to any of them beyond polite apologies and humble non-answers, and not once had he even so much as cast a meaningful glance in Rideaux's direction. Every time Rideaux made an attempt to catch his eye, Julius found somewhere else to be looking. It was exactly the sort of casual dismissal that set Rideaux's blood boiling.

Right now, he had do-gooders to contend with. He was beginning to feel like some doddering old university lecturer. How many times had they made him do this today? _Too many. I'm too tired for this._

Rideaux spread his hands. “I'll keep this as simple as possible. You all know that Elle is becoming a divergence catalyst. Julius might have neglected to tell you he's been having a similar problem. He's a little forgetful at times. Isn't that right, former Director?” Rideaux smiled; Julius blanked him.

Refusing to be deterred, Rideaux continued. “Our Julius gave _me_ the not so simple task of finding a solution to this. As it happens, I've found one.” Briefly, he went into the same explanation he'd already given Julius, using the same analogy of the tipping scales to demonstrate transferring the divergence from one person to another. “As you can guess, this doesn't work out very well for the recipient. And that's where Miss Maxwell comes in.”

He'd expected to explain the next part himself, but she surprised him by stepping forward. “This body is a vessel,” She said, firm and certain. “While I appreciate the sentimental value it has, Elle's life far outweighs the importance of keeping this body intact.” After a moment, she nodded towards Julius. “While I question your choice to hold so many secrets, it's clear to me how much you love your brother. For you as well, I make this choice gladly.”

For a brief second, Rideaux had the unusual privilege of seeing Julius completely nonplussed. Then he nodded in return, grave and formal. “Thank you. I don't deserve such consideration.”

 _You can say that again._ “We'll be channelling the divergence to Maxwell,” Rideaux interrupted, not interested in letting the sentimentality run on unchecked. “Three portions. Far too much for any lowly human, but surely for the great Lord of Spirits it will be a different story.”

Milla glared at him coldly, paying no attention to the taut expressions of her companions. “Spirit or no, this vessel resembles a human in every way possible. Nonetheless, it will endure.”

She spoke with such conviction that Rideaux actually found himself comforted, a feeling he quickly quashed. The last thing this woman needed was _more_ unabashed adoration. The thought alone made him nauseous.

Once again she turned to look at her companions, gentleness undercutting her absolute determination. “Once Rideaux has done what he needs to do, I will return to the spirit world. This body, contaminated by the chromatus, will cease to exist. But as soon as I am able, I will return to you all.”

“So you see,” Rideaux finished, dipping his head in Elle's direction, “I'm not killing her. Your precious Milla will come back, and you'll be free to spend the rest of your long, rotten lives together. How lovely for you.”

She glowered back at him, lip jutting forward in petulant frustration, but she didn't say anything. Instead, at last, it was Julius who spoke.

“How soon?” He asked, and Rideaux snapped to attention at finally being acknowledged. “When can you do this, Rideaux?”

He recalled their earlier conversation, the certainty with which he'd told Julius he wasn't ready to go forward, and glanced across at Milla Maxwell. “Feeling brave?” He asked, voice low and hushed—words for her, and her alone. The look she gave him was clear. Rideaux nodded, and smiled magnanimously at Julius. “Tomorrow.”

-

After that they'd separated. Gaius was the first to depart, walking away from the common room with an expression of solemn gravitas, and after that the others had began to filter away. Rideaux watched Maxwell's companions divide off into groups, coming and going, speaking hushed reassurances to one another. Ivar and Jude disappeared outside, and when they returned almost an hour later Rideaux had the distinct impression they’d exchanged some heated words—somehow, they both seemed lighter for it. Rideaux almost let them be, but then thought better of it. Ivar was too valuable of an errand boy to let off the hook that easily. Rideaux called him over.

“Find that _Alvin_. I need something from him.”

Surprisingly, the task didn't take Ivar long. Alvin sauntered across the common room to perch on the bench next to Rideaux, all faux-casual beneath the faintest hint of a scowl. Of all Maxwell's companions, Alvin had offered the least resistance to the proposal but had also quickly become the most short-tempered. There was probably some sort of nuance in that, but Rideaux really didn't care enough to examine it.

“Busy times,” Alvin said conversationally, gesturing at the various papers Rideaux had gathered around himself. Seated still in the common room, Rideaux had soon established himself an impromptu work station, hurrying through preparations for a calculatrics arte never before attempted. It was fortunate Ludger's little friends were all too stupid to understand his workings, otherwise they might be able to recognise just how frantic and haphazard they were. _I needed weeks to prepare this, not hours._ Rideaux sighed, placed his pen down, and focused on the annoyance that was Alvin Vint Svent.

“Do you do any local business, Al?”

Alvin shrugged. “A little. We don't operate out of Drellin, but Yurgen's got some contacts. Always looking to expand, you know.” If the question made him at all suspicious, he certainly wasn't showing it. “Looking to get in on the market, Ridds?”

Rideaux decided to ignore the way his name continued to devolve in this ingrate’s mouth. “Of course not. We're going to need space tomorrow. Somewhere private but open.”

Alvin understood immediately. “You want a warehouse.”

“Only for a few hours. That should be plenty of time. As much as I would _love_ to arrange it myself, you hopeless fools have already given me more than enough to do.” Rideaux made an encompassing gesture, indicating all the papers scattered around his desk and everything they entailed.

Alvin's brow rose in acknowledgement. “Leave it with me. I'll get us somewhere.”

That should have been the end of the conversation. Rideaux reached for his pen once more... and sighed as Alvin's hand splayed roughly across his paperwork. The expression on Al's face was grim, all pretence of casual indifference thrown to the wind. Rideaux sat back once more and glowered. “Yes?”

“You just better hope this works, Rideaux,” He said, and Rideaux bristled at the underlying threat bleeding through Alvin's words. But as simply as that it was done—Alvin straightened away from the desk, gave a little wave of his hand that hung somewhere between salute and farewell, and wandered away just as casually as he'd arrived. Still hovering on the edge of their conversation, Ivar watched Alvin depart, then sidled a step closer to Rideaux's side.

“You know,” He whispered, in that ridiculous conspiratorial voice he insisted on using, “I've never liked that guy.”

Rideaux smirked despite himself, and returned to his work.

-

Night crept on, hour after hour sifting away toward dawn. Ivar started the evening providing regular servings of steaming hot coffee, far better than the tasteless dross they served at Spirius HQ. As time wore on, he became less and less able to conceal his exhaustion, until he eventually dozed off on his feet and subsequently toppled over. Comical as that was, Rideaux took mercy and dismissed him. Ivar trudged up the stairs with a sleepy suggestion that Rideaux should do the same.

If only it were that simple. Rideaux was still there another hour later, eyes glazing over as he read and reread the notes he'd taken, trying to comprehend...

He didn't hear the footsteps approach, and started when someone took a seat next to him. For a flurried moment he expected Julius, and tensed with anticipation. Instead it was Maxwell who took the bench beside him, her hair just slightly dishevelled. So she'd had _some_ sleep, then. Rideaux tried not to openly recoil from her unwelcome company.

“Do you intend to work at this all night?” She asked him, matter-of-fact and straight to the point, just as he'd come to anticipate. Rideaux gave a vague shrug in response, then watched with mounting discomfort as Maxwell turned to swing her knees under the table and made herself comfy. “Then allow me to help.”

“And just what sort of help do you think you can offer?” Rideaux sneered, looking her up and down with an expression tailored to be repellent. It worked—but not completely. Maxwell's lip curled in displeasure but she didn't rise.

“Tell me what I should expect tomorrow,” She said.

Rideaux considered for a long moment... and finally relented, pulling one piece of paper forward and smoothing it between them. Maxwell leaned an inch closer, looking over the roughshod diagram with keen scrutiny. He gave her a few seconds to try and make sense of it before launching into explanation.

“ _Something_ causes Chromatus users to become divergence catalysts. Whatever that something is, no one's ever made a word for it. For simplicity’s sake, we're going to call it miasma.” Maxwell gave him a flickering glance, as though the word meant something to her, but offered no explanation. If he didn't already have so much else to deal with, he might have chased the point. Instead he continued, “Poor little Elle is clogged up with miasma. What we'll be doing is siphoning it away from her.”

He shrugged, then. “Think of it as water if that's easier. We need to funnel it from one reservoir to another. That requires some kind of conduit.” Rideaux pointed to each circle of the diagram in turn, explaining as he went. “If this represents Elle, and this one here represents you, we need someone in between to keep everything flowing in the right direction. The conduit.”

Maxwell took a moment to digest this, tracing the flow of miasma from circle to circle with one finger. “Is it going to be difficult?” She asked. Rideaux scoffed, talking over the sharp look she gave him.

“That depends entirely on your definition.” He pointed again at the circle representing Elle. “The easiest part will be here. All the little dumpling has to do is stand still and try not to cry too much. I'm sure she'll do her very best.” Next he pointed to the end of the diagram's flow of miasma, at the circle representing Maxwell herself. “For you, things won't be quite so simple. I hope you're feeling exceptionally gallant, oh Lord of Spirits, because this is going to put you to the test.”

“You needn't worry,” Maxwell replied, and the absolute certainty in her voice was almost reassuring. Rideaux resisted the wholly unpleasant and deeply uncharacteristic urge to actually _admire_ that foolhardy courage.

Instead he shrugged again, making a show of dismissing her confidence. “Glad to hear it. You'll be taking on three bursts of miasma, more than enough to turn any normal human into a divergence catalyst. My advice, Miss Maxwell, is to _not_ let that happen. If you succumb, another fractured dimension would be created from you. Most likely, your consciousness would cease to exist.”

She took the threat of his words with grave formality, nodding slowly. “And what should I do to avoid that fate?”

“Something that won't come naturally to you, if your companions are to be believed. You have to know when to give up. If the process becomes too much to handle, simply release your hold on this vessel of yours and return to the spirit world. Remember what I told you before. It's not your life I'm making use of, Maxwell. It's this convenient body of yours. No need to go down with the ship, captain.”

Her lips quirked up at that, an expression Rideaux found himself returning. For all that he disliked the woman, there was something undeniably _practical_ about talking things through. The knowledge reminded him, suddenly and strikingly, of Julius—of the Julius who approached him back in Duval, and the Julius who had approached him earlier that very day.

_Talk to me, Rideaux._

Did Julius really know him so well? Well enough to make himself the convenient soundboard to Rideaux's own creative process?  


When Maxwell spoke again, Rideaux happily seized upon the distraction of her questioning.

“That answers two.” She raised her hand, pointing once more to the diagram. “What about this circle. The conduit, as you called it.”

“What about it?”

“How difficult will their task be?”

 _Now **there** was a question worth asking._ Rideaux grimaced, propping his elbow on the tabletop and resting his chin on the back of his curled knuckles. “Difficult. The conduit's job is to keep miasma flowing from point A to point B. While you, Maxwell, have the unenviable task of _holding_ all that poison, the conduit will have to direct it. For a human, even one of the Kresnik line, that's no simple task. A high concentration of miasma will result in transformation into a divergence catalyst—if the conduit loses focus, they risk holding too much miasma inside themselves. They have to maintain the flow at any cost, no matter what pain they're experiencing, no matter how distracting their surroundings become. It will take concentration, and talent.”

“I see.” Maxwell's brows pinched together thoughtfully. It seemed to Rideaux that her next question should be obvious, but instead she lapsed into a drawn silence, deep in her own considerations. Rideaux sighed. He hadn't wanted to broach the subject himself.

“So, Miss Maxwell. As you can see, we need someone to act as a conduit.” Rideaux spread one hand toward her in a gesture of acquiescence. “You know these people better than I ever will. Advise me. Would you recommend that sister of yours?”

Surprisingly, Maxwell blanched. “Muzèt? I think... not.” She seemed to regret the words even as she affirmed them. “No, not Muzèt. Why do you suggest her?”

“For the same reasons I've suggested you, plus or minus a few key details. A great spirit is far more prepared to endure this than any lowly human, barring the possible exception of another Kresnik. Julius has to take his own turn after Elle, and Ludger...” Rideaux sniffed, not quite managing to keep the disdain from his voice. “He'll be too busy worrying about his precious brat to concentrate.”

For the barest second, he almost thought Maxwell looked amused. Rideaux's lip curled. Then she spoke again, voice firm and unyielding.

“You didn't exclude yourself from that list. You're a Kresnik as well, are you not?”

 _Is that supposed to taunt me?_ Rideaux gave her his blandest smile, taking small pleasure in the flicker of uncertainty that surfaced in her eyes. “Clever girl. You’re quite correct. I'll be acting as the conduit for Julius and Elle.”

Maxwell looked surprised, but only for a second—then her brows drew down in a thoughtful frown. “Is that wise?” She finally said, quickly clarifying at whatever expression she saw on his face. “You're exhausted. If you refuse to rest, should you really be taking on such a difficult task?”

 _I don't trust anyone else to keep Julius from martyring himself._ Rideaux swallowed that answer, not at all certain he knew what to do with it.

“Besides,” She continued, a subdued afterthought, “Why would you take such a risk for them? It's plain enough that you consider us to be your enemies.”

That was an easier question to answer. Rideaux smirked, waving a hand as if to dismiss her words on the breeze. “Simple. I won't tolerate failure. I've sunk too much time and risk into this to pass it over to amateurs any sooner than I have to.” Smiling, he added, “Would you expect your Jude Mathis to hand off his spyrite research at the last moment?”

The comment seemed to reach her, although she still shook her head in disagreement. “I can understand that. But Jude doesn't work alone. He surrounds himself with people he trusts, working together for the world they desire. Perhaps you could learn something from his methods.”

_I think not._ Rideaux tried not to growl impatience. He hadn't expected to meet resistance on this—or at least not from _her_. “Listen closely, Lord Maxwell. If you want to give little Elle the best chance of survival, you'll shut your pretty mouth and let me do what I do best. If you want to keep that worthless lout Julius around a little while longer, try telling me something _useful_.”

It was a little like the feeling he got when intentionally provoking Julius. Maxwell straightened, tossed her hair over her shoulder and narrowed her gaze in cold anger—unmistakably the Lord of Spirits, and haughty with it. Rideaux didn't bother to repress his smirk, even as he found himself wishing those angry eyes were Kresnik blue.

“You need a conduit,” She said, all cool business, aggression thrumming taut beneath her words. “Tell me again what that entails.”

 _Finally. Progress_. “At the core, it's similar to channelling spirit energy. I'm looking for someone robust, and skilled with spirit artes. Having the force behind a divergence catalyst coursing through their body _won't_ be pleasant, but it should be fairly brief. A Rieze Maxian would be better, naturally.”

“Then your options are few.” Maxwell's expression had clouded over as she considered his words. Now she spoke, the words falling heavy as they left her. “Rowen. Or Elize. But... I wouldn't wish this task upon either of them.”

_ An old man or a little girl? Wonderful. My saviours.  _ Rideaux scoffed, shifting to once again prop his chin on his knuckles. “I'd sooner trust your legendary Conductor than some untested child, but please, don't blame me if he has some sort of aneurysm.”  


Maxwell glowered once more. “She might surprise you. Elize is strong in ways you wouldn't understand. She has endured more harshness in her lifetime than most humans can conceive of, and she still faces the world with courage and kindness in her heart. More than can be said for you.”

“I'm moved. Truly.” Rideaux stifled a yawn, only half for show. “Nevertheless, unless you've no other recommendations, I'll be casting my vote to the Prime Minister.”

“Suit yourself,” She snapped, finally losing her temper, and for a blissful moment Rideaux thought she was going to storm off and leave him in peace. Instead she returned her attention to the diagram, content to seek angry refuge in her own private thoughts. Rideaux, left with no other option, settled to working around her.

-

It was just before daybreak—with the inevitable pending arrival of do-gooders seeking breakfast—that Rideaux took his leave of Lord Maxwell and went outside.

The pre-dawn gloom hanging over Drellin seemed to deter none of the townsfolk; even at this unseemly hour, Rideaux could see the beginnings of hustle and bustle, street vendors setting out their wares for another busy day of tourism and trade. Even so the plaza was comparatively quiet, and Rideaux felt nothing more than the occasional curious glance as he made his way across the open space. The rising sun would be behind him, inching cautious fingers of light into the deep canyons that marked Drellin's landscape. It wasn't the sort of sight that usually held much interest for him, but right now it seemed a lot more appealing than spending another stifling moment staring at words on paper.

He was as ready as he was going to be. It wasn't enough, but it was going to have to do. Rideaux settled against the railing, the same casual lounging position he'd adopted yesterday when speaking to the Rieze Maxians and their pet spirit.

If everything _somehow_ went well today, he'd have no more reason to deal with Jude Mathis and the rest of that sorry lot. It was a strange thought. He certainly wasn't going to miss their company—Rideaux scoffed to himself at the mere idea. But parting company was going to mean reassessing his loyalties, a matter that had somehow become muddied at the wayside these last difficult weeks.

Who _was_ he loyal to?

_Myself. Who else? Someone has to be._

It sounded so simple. Yet what did he need to do to protect his own interests? Return to Bakur? With Julius gone renegade and Ludger's loyalty tied to his brother, Rideaux was looking increasingly like the only available Kresnik within Bakur's reach. _And he's almost ready for his little vacation to Canaan. I think we all know where **that's** going._

So returning to Triglyph was out of the question, unless he could find some way to ensure his own safety. And what would be the easiest way to do that? Bring someone else to serve as the soul bridge in his place.

But even that would be taking a risk. He could waltz into Spirius HQ with Julius on a leash and it still wouldn't guarantee anything. Bakur might decide to save his own flesh and blood out of some latent paternal instinct, or decide to keep Julius around to suffer through witnessing his triumph. He might just decide to kill them both for all the trouble they'd respectively caused over the years. Who could say with Bakur? Even now Rideaux wasn't sure he understood exactly what strange bond existed between Bakur and Julius—or even Bakur and himself, for that matter.

Oh well. At least the mental image was nice. Rideaux gazed down into the gorge and entertained himself with the idea of having Julius trussed up and collared, remembering once again the expression Julius had worn back in that fractured dimension, injured and helpless and on his knees.

The clattering sound of someone dropping a tray of souvenirs snapped Rideaux back to reality. He glanced over his shoulder, watching for a moment as the two merchants scampered around to gather their waylaid goods, then turned his attention back to the canyon and his predicament.

He could return to Bakur empty-handed, or he could return with a fellow Kresnik in tow. He could stay out here alone, perhaps attempt to disappear into the relative wilderness of Rieze Maxia and hope this whole finale to Bakur's life mission would resolve itself in his absence. _Small chance of that._

_Or_ he could continue to ally himself with Julius and company.

That he could even consider the possibility was enough proof of just how tired he'd become. And yet... Rideaux turned it over in his mind, angle upon angle. Like it or not, Ludger and his friends had already proven themselves to be powerful adversaries. Would they not prove equally powerful allies? They had the Waymarkers, and they had the Key of Kresnik. Were they strong enough to stop Bisley, if it ever came to confrontation? It was... difficult to say. Unbidden, he remembered the conversation in that elevator not so long ago— _he was calling himself Victor,_ Julius had said, meaning that Bisley had died at the hand of Elle's father.

That Ludger had killed Bisley.

But the Ludger from that dimension wasn't the Ludger from this one. It was difficult to imagine Julius's pathetic little brother so much as drawing his blade on Bisley Bakur, much less killing him. It was a consideration worth remembering, but not a conclusive one.

Rideaux frowned as his thoughts took a different turn. It didn't really _matter_ if Ludger and his cronies were likely to be the winning side. They'd made it perfectly clear just how little they thought of him. When it came to protecting Elle they'd had no choice but to seek his aid, but afterwards? What possible reason would they have to keep him around? The emotional idiots still hadn't forgiven him for solving their little Milla problem for them. The fact that he was about to take her away from them for a second time couldn't possibly be improving their collective view of him.

Well, fine. What did it matter? He could barely stand to share their company for another hour, never mind anything beyond. The sooner this was finished with, the happier they'd all be.

And besides, loathe as he was to admit it, Maxwell had been right. Acting as the conduit for both Elle _and_ Julius was a considerable risk, and he was in no position to be taking it. Even now he could feel exhaustion weighing his body down, and that wasn't even taking into account his other... health issues. Probably better that Maxwell and her entourage knew nothing about _those_.

A life-threatening risk, all to save Julius and his bratty niece. How had it come to this? Rideaux scoffed again, softer this time, and turned his distracted gaze to the brightening sky.

It wasn't until company arrived, almost an hour later, that Rideaux was willing to privately admit the other reason he'd decided to come outside. Here he was, alone and waiting, far away from familiar prying eyes. Julius was still obviously avoiding him, and Rideaux wasn't above using himself as tantalising, vulnerable bait to lure the bastard out, particularly when clearing the air between them promised to be so very _entertaining_.

Unfortunately, his clever lure had attracted the wrong person entirely.

"What do _you_ want?" Rideaux growled, turning briskly away from the hopelessly worn expression on Jude Mathis's face. _First Maxwell, now him? What did I do to deserve this?_

Whatever it was that troubled Jude, he didn't seem willing to come right out and say it. Instead he moved closer, stopping at the awkward distance of not-quite-casual acquaintances. The dark smudges under his eyes plainly betrayed that he hadn't slept well, and he smelled faintly of kitchen—no doubt he'd been helping Ludger tackle the unenviable task of producing breakfast for twelve. Rideaux's stomach rumbled despite himself, but thankfully Jude didn't seem to hear. Instead he finally spoke up, sounding straight-backed and precise.

“You said something yesterday about— about Doctor Mathis. Do you mind telling me a little more about that?” Rideaux glanced over despite himself; Jude's head was cocked curiously to one side, his serious expression doing little to mask the genuine childlike interest colouring his actions. “I'd like to know what happened between you two.”

Rideaux paused to consider, slowly turning back to face Mathis once more. Yes, he _had_ made a jab about Derrick yesterday, hadn't he? Jude's perplexed expression had been terribly amusing. Rideaux smiled blithely.

“I was sick. He fixed me right up. Case closed.” Rideaux stood taller, straightening the lapels of his jacket. “I hope you weren't expecting anything more interesting.”

Jude was wearing that concerned frown again, one arm anxiously crossed across his body. “I guess,” He said, the very picture of non-committal. Whatever history existed between Derrick Mathis and his son, Rideaux was quite sure he wanted no part of it. _I've had more than enough of your family dramas, thank you._

He was just stepping toward the inn, wondering whether or not he might be able to steal himself some of whatever Ludger had thrown together for breakfast, when Mathis suddenly spoke up again. “Hold on. There's something I really think you should know about. That's the reason I came out here to talk to you.”

“Oh _good_ ,” Rideaux sighed, generously biting back on a far stronger retort. “I can't wait to hear it.”

“It's about Julius,” Jude said, surprising him. “Two weeks ago, Julius was injured by Spirius agents at the Sapstrath Seahaven. That's correct, isn't it?”

“How do you know about that?” Rideaux asked, immediately remembering the report he'd received of Julius being sighted at the Seahaven. His agents had claimed to have Julius wounded and on the run. They'd been supremely confident that this time they were finally going to catch him, but in the end Julius had somehow managed to slip through the metaphorical net...

“Julius did it on purpose,” Jude said, voice soft but heavy with the weight of explanation. “Julius told Ludger, and then Ludger told me. Julius has an insider in Spirius. He knew where they'd be, and he let them see him.” Suddenly he looked up, eyes bright with the earnestness of his feelings. “You understand, don't you? You've been trying to protect Julius, and he's been trying to protect you, too.”  


For a whole second Rideaux was too startled to speak. Then he snorted back ugly laughter, straightened to his full angular height, and arranged his expression to an artful sneer of disdain. “And how does that make sense? How, exactly, would letting those idiots see him help _anyone_?”

If Mathis was at all perturbed, he wasn't showing it. “There were rumours in the company that Bisley was losing patience with you; that's what Julius's insider told him. That Bisley was going to find someone else to lead the search for Julius and the missing Waymarker. That's why Julius let them find him. It was supposed to get Bisley off your back for a while. Julius was thinking about your safety all along.”

Rideaux's skin had taken on the most peculiar prickling sensation. He opened his mouth to speak, hesitated around a moment of confounded silence, then snapped his teeth together again in frustration. Jude had the gall to give him an obnoxiously sympathetic smile.

“Julius didn't want you to know, and Ludger asked me not to say anything.” He rubbed his head in a sheepish gesture. “So I guess I owe you all an apology.”

“Have you always been this much of a busybody?” Rideaux temporised, falling back on easy insults in light of not knowing what else to say. “Or is this just the honour student in you shining through?”

“Don't let Alvin hear you say that,” Jude replied, the flash of a smile crossing his face before his expression turned sombre. “I'm sorry for interfering. I just thought you should know.”

 _Why?_ Rideaux considered asking, not at all sure he wanted to hear whatever saccharine answer this idiot would produce. Instead he forced himself to smile, motioning for Mathis to follow him back toward the inn. Then he turned, listening for the sound of footsteps falling into place behind him before he began to speak.

“I don't care what Julius has been up to,” He began, “And I don't have to justify myself to any of you hopeless do-gooders. But since you've been nice enough to give me this little message, here's one you can give back to Ludger, from _me_.”

The words flowed with surprising ease, a comfortable torrent of expression he hadn't realised needed saying. “Tell him that Julius and I have destroyed countless fractured dimensions together. Tell him to think about every single catalyst he's destroyed, every last one, and then multiply that figure tenfold. That doesn't even come close to the things we've done together. Tell Ludger that, next time he wants to look at me like _I'm_ some kind of monster, he should think about the things his brother has done right beside me.”

Jude drew breath as if to speak; Rideaux raised a quelling hand. “I'm not done.” He smiled then, and if there was something else underlying the bitterness in his expression then at least no one was able to see it. “There are two ways to survive a situation like that, Jude Mathis. You learn to hate yourself for the things you've done, or you learn to hate everybody else so it just doesn't matter any more. Next time little Ludger decides to judge me, tell him to think about that. _Then_ we'll talk.”

If Jude’s footsteps fell silent behind him, Rideaux no longer cared.

-

The warehouse boasted plenty of floor space, and was in a quiet enough area that they didn't need to worry about being overheard. Rideaux performed a cursory check of the perimeter, more to distance himself from Milla's weepy entourage than for any other purpose.

Elle was fidgeting nervously, and Julius was hanging back with the same air of implacable stoicism he'd been wearing since the previous evening. Rideaux didn't bother trying to either of them any more than absolutely necessary—he didn't pay any attention to the various hints of injury still evident in Julius's posture, and he certainly didn't wonder which one of them might have been the injury supposedly sustained in the service of protecting him.

It was just one distraction after another with these people. Rideaux scowled, exhausted and out of patience, and set to work mapping out the space needed for the calculatrics arte.

It didn't take nearly long enough.

His diagram was soon recreated, writ out large across the barren concrete of the warehouse floor. One benefit to letting Maxwell join him overnight was that she quickly took up the task of explaining the finer details to Ludger and the others—if she simplified a few details here and there, it was nothing Rideaux felt compelled to clarify.

He'd expected Elle to start crying when placed into position, but instead she held herself up with all the poise and courage that could be expected from an eight-year-old. Rideaux wasn't about to demean himself by _smiling_ at the snotty brat, but he did give her a nod of acknowledgement. She surprised him by returning the gesture, though not without huffing out a grumpy little sigh of distaste.

Maxwell behaved exactly as anticipated, taking up her position without prompt and standing with statuesque elegance. If anyone else had ever faced the executioner’s axe with even half so much dignity, Rideaux would have been astonished to hear of it. _But then, most people don't get to come back from their own executions, do they?_

Prime Minister Rowen took a position near the edge of the arte circle, prepared to step in and take over as the conduit when Rideaux gave the signal to switch places. The old man had understood Rideaux's instructions with an ease that seemed almost instinctual, something Rideaux found quite reassuring. It seemed that Maxwell's suggestion had been a worthy one after all.

The rest of the group gathered around at a respectful distance. Ludger hovered close to Elle, Julius standing at his elbow. Jude took a similar position at Milla's side, a prime spot that young Ivar was clearly coveting from a few paces further back. Rideaux took a moment to observe his hopeless subordinate. Ivar had the same look of pre-emptive grief that hovered over all of Maxwell's companions, and yet he was conducting himself with a certain gravitas that Rideaux wouldn't have expected. Had Ivar somehow matured over the last few weeks, or was Rideaux only now getting to see a side of him that was usually buried beneath the admittedly gaudy service?

Perhaps, if they somehow got out of this with their lives and jobs in tact, he'd consider giving Ivar some sort of bonus in his next pay packet _. Just don't get used to it, kid._

He was just about ready to begin, and preparing to say so, when the young girl—Elize, he seemed to recall—suddenly darted forward and flung her arms around Maxwell's waist. The strange floating puppet creature followed immediately behind, burying itself into Maxwell's chest with an inconsolable wail of despair. “Come back to us soon!” Elize cried, and then _everyone_ had to step forward and offer their final temporary farewells to Maxwell for what felt like the fiftieth time. Rideaux rolled his eyes and turned around, walking back to where the Family Kresnik had gathered together.

“Go on,” He said to Elle, who didn't need to be told twice. She darted forward from her designated position, then seemed to belatedly hesitate before slowing in her approach toward Milla. Happily enough, Ludger chose to follow her. Rideaux didn't bother to watch the drama unfold between them. Instead he turned to look at Julius, pinning him with a stern glare before the elusive bastard could trail after his younger brother.

“As soon as Elle's turn is finished, you need to swap places with her,” He told Julius, not for the first time that morning. “Timing is critical. Don't dawdle.”

“I know,” Julius muttered, attention diverted—watching Elle and Ludger, or deliberately avoiding Rideaux’s gaze? It was probably for the best either way. If there was anyone in this room capable of realising just how exhausted he really was, it was the detestable idiot standing right in front of him. Rideaux scoffed, turning on his heel to take position at Julius's side.

“Do you think this is going to work?” Julius asked, his voice stony and monotonous. It was the first time he'd actually asked. Rideaux crossed his arms and found an interesting bit of floor to stare at.

“I don't know,” He admitted. “We're rushing things. If there was a choice, I wouldn't be going ahead with this today. Alas, your niece isn't giving us a choice. It's a shame. I would have loved to test this in a fractured dimension. You know, somewhere the consequences would be a little less _damning_.” _Too late for wishful thinking._ Rideaux shrugged, pushing some false brightness into his tone. “But if it works, we'll be making history. Surely that counts for something.”

Julius surprised him by laughing, a low soft sound that went almost unheard in the echoing bustle of the warehouse. “Are you trying to console me? Now I _know_ things are desperate.”

Rideaux found himself snickering, drawn along despite himself. “Read into it whatever you like, Director Kresnik.”

“Former Director,” Julius corrected him, and for a second longer it seemed as though the smile still lingered in his tone. Then he spoke again, and the moment was gone. “I can't help but wonder...” He stopped.

Rideaux prodded him with one sharp elbow, scowling. “Wonder _what_?”

“What would have happened if we'd done this sooner.”

It took Rideaux a second to comprehend what Julius was suggesting. “If we'd found a cure before now?”

Julius's expression was difficult to read, his eyes cool and distant behind steel frames. “Do you think things would have been different?” He asked, and Rideaux heard the real question underpinning his words. _Would things have been different between us?_

If they'd found a cure before now—if they'd worked together, if they’d combined efforts against a common foe instead of targeting one another in an impossible ruthless game. If they hadn't grown apart all those years ago, if they'd never found out the truth of the soul bridge. Deep in the oldest roots of teenage nostalgia, something inside Rideaux ached.

“No,” He said, lying. “Nothing would have changed.”

Beside him, Julius gave a low sigh.

When Rideaux moved to walk away, Julius's gloved hand brushed his arm. It was enough to give Rideaux pause. “When this is over,” Julius growled, in a voice dark and heavy with promise, “We still have business to take care of.”

Despite everything, Rideaux caught himself suppressing a grin. “Oh, Kresnik. Just when I thought you'd forgotten.” He smirked and turned on one heel, walking away with a breezy wave over his shoulder. “When this is over, _I'll_ be looking forward to it.”

Then it was time to shoo everyone back into position. A few of Maxwell's companions were looking more red-eyed for the interlude, the sunny reporter girl Leia chief among them. Rideaux shuffled them all back into their places, unwilling to waste any more time on soap opera theatrics.

Elle herself was the last one to settle into place, throwing a nervy glance at Ludger and a far more serious one in the direction of her precious Milla Maxwell. Rideaux stood between the pair, casting one final preparatory glance around the arte circle and everyone involved.

It was ready. As ready as it was ever going to be, given the circumstances. This was the time to begin. The silence stretched awkwardly around them until, finally, Elle spoke up. “Did it start yet...?”

“Of course not,” Rideaux snapped, sharper even than usual. He looked around the group, narrow-eyed and severe, nodding to Rowen, Maxwell, Julius and Elle in turn. “Brace yourselves, and stay focused. This isn't going to be pretty, but it's going to be final.” They each nodded silent responses, grave-faced and prepared.

If this was what being trusted felt like, Rideaux decided it really wasn't all it was cracked up to be. He exhaled, shut his eyes. Began.

Even with his eyes closed he could feel the light begin to surround them—vivid white energy coursing through the lines drawn out across the floor before flaring brightly around them. Rideaux's eyes burst open in response to Elle's startled cry, and he hissed uncomfortably at the harsh brightness surrounding them. But the girl was fine—frightened and gazing all about herself in a flurry of nerves, but fine. Rideaux pressed one hand against the pocketwatch concealed within his jacket; the other he pointed sharply toward Elle, catching her attention.

“Get ready!” He yelled, then grit his teeth at the sight that manifested before him. Elle cried out again and clutched her chest, staring with wide terrified eyes at the black miasma suddenly roiling around her form. Behind him he heard Maxwell bracing herself. _Through me, into her._ Rideaux glanced over his shoulder one last time, checking; Maxwell returned his look with absolute resolution laid bare across her face. She was frightened, and it didn't matter. Despite everything, he couldn't quell an unwelcome swell of admiration.

_Like channelling spirit energy_ , he'd told Maxwell, as though it would be the easiest thing in the world. If Rideaux had been in a position to think about anything other than the incredible agony lancing through his body, then he would have taken the time to call himself an absolute idiot.

Through his nerves, through his limbs, through parts of himself he didn't know how to explain—it felt like cracked glass lined every part of him. Like he wanted to open himself up and scrape out the contents, like splintered crystals growing inside his organs and grinding together. Maybe it was humiliating to scream but the sound tore from him anyway, hoarse agony rent to the rafters. And it was getting worse by the second.

 _It will take concentration, and talent._ The words surged forward, clawing blindly to the surface against the torrent pouring into his body. _They have to maintain the flow at any cost. If the conduit loses concentration they risk holding too much in themselves._

His own words. To Maxwell. Yes, that was it. He gasped for air, choking on darkness that shouldn't have been there.

_You're going to catalyse, you idiot! **Channel it!**_

He swung around with a sound so raw and guttural it almost sounded more like Julius's voice than his own, and he pushed, pushed through and with and against the miasma, pushed toward Maxwell. It was like struggling through mire, like trying to cut steel with a scalpel, but the moment he heard Maxwell’s voice grit in new pain, he knew he was doing something right. It was working.

It was _working_. The seconds were spinning by from some bizarre agonising distance, like shooting stars too far beyond his reach, and yet it almost seemed that the miasma was clearing from his vision, replaced once again with that too-vivid effervescent brilliance. Calculatrics. Someone had to design a less glaring form of calculatrics. Rideaux shook his head and immediately regretted the gesture, biting down hard on something. His lip, his confusion, his emotions. _Focus, **focus**._

He became aware of the stony concrete beneath his knees a second before the darkness vanished. Everything was too sharp, too defined. He was dizzy, fighting back the urge to retch, and it was— not over. Not over yet. Rideaux moved in a flurry of clumsy beaten motion, spinning back toward Elle with barely a glance toward Maxwell. She was still standing, but surely not for much longer.

“Switch!” He roared, and when three identical sets of Kresnik eyes stared at him he staggered to his feet in fury. “Switch places!” He yelled again, gesturing wildly, not sure how long he'd be able to keep himself upright much less bullying orders.

“You can't do that again!” Julius snapped in return, and there was something stricken and horrified in his words. _Julius was thinking about your safety all along_ , sang Jude Mathis's stupid voice in the back of his beleaguered mind, all the wrong things happening at all the wrong times. Rideaux wasn't sure whether to laugh or scream.

Desperate, he tried to start forward, but instead found himself pitching back to his knees at a sudden flourish of fresh pain bursting in his chest. Even so he kept his gaze fixed upward, looking first from Julius to the damnable brother. “Do you _want_ him to die?” He snapped, and just as neatly as that Ludger shifted into action.

“Julius, you have to do this _now_!” Ludger ordered with a fierceness Rideaux hadn't known he possessed, and in the time it took his brother to hesitate Ludger seized hold of his gloved hand, yanking him toward the circle where Elle stood. Julius went; whether by Ludger's command or in response to the absolute pain in his catalysed hand, Rideaux didn't know or care. Elle scuttled aside with one terrified glance at Ludger, and then she too darted forward to grab Julius and push him forward.

“You've gotta do this, Glasses Guy!” She cried, tears standing in her eyes. “Just be brave! I know you can do it!”

Just for that, Rideaux found himself overwhelmed with the delirious urge to kiss her.

The light of the calculatrics arte was still pulsing around them, only now it seemed steady and reassuring, not at all the blistering torrent he'd first imagined it to be. Maybe it wasn't so bright after all—it was almost soothing if you looked at it right. When was the last time he'd slept? Rideaux choked down the obscene urge to curl up and let it all wash over him. If that hideous fat cat could sleep wherever it wanted, why shouldn't he? _Focus_.

Julius was finally in place, staring at him with some sort of unreadable horror stained across his stupid broad face. Rideaux bared his teeth and forced himself to his feet. _One more time,_ he told himself, dizzy and wilting. _One glorious encore for the star of the show._

“Just stand there and look pretty,” Rideaux spat, grinning obscenely at the madness of it all, and watched as the same pitch miasma began to form around Julius. The air seemed to boil with it, black and purple and cresting like storm-driven waves. It might have been fascinating if it didn't look so very much like a death sentence.

But at least Julius finally knew how to follow orders. Amidst the heaving darkness, he _did_ stand, and he _did_ look pretty.

It should have been easier, knowing what to expect, but it wasn't. It struck like the blow of some ancient warhammer, and as quickly as that Rideaux was reeling and staggered. His chest felt empty, concave, a sucking vacuum drawing the poison in, and Rideaux felt himself gagging from the overflow of vile sensations pouring through his body. He couldn't so much as cry out this time, the air robbed from his lungs in barely an instant. The effect was—absolute. Rideaux spun blindly in the direction Maxwell had to be, desperately trying to do whatever it was that had worked last time.

Voices were yelling things—he tried to join them, to say _anything_. Was it Leia, cheerful and optimistic, who called his name so urgently? Was that Muzèt who sounded so very far above him, begging for Milla to hang on just a minute longer? Their voices were jumbled, bleeding through one another, noisy and cacophonous, reverberating through his sinew and bone. Shut up, he screamed, voiceless, _shut up and let me **focus**!_

It was too much—he reached to his chest, scrabbling desperately for some means, any means, to get air into his lungs. Instead his hand closed around something metal, circular and cool, muscle-memory familiar—and then he could breathe again, the miasma flowing through him suddenly matched by a strength of his own. Rideaux looked through it all, through the shifting darkness and it's choking grasp, and saw her—and she saw him in turn. For that instant, gasping and haggard and desperate beyond compare, their eyes met. She was hurting, staggered, not quite familiar. And yet somehow, in that moment, it seemed to Rideaux that Milla Maxwell smiled.

The next thing he felt was the world turning sideways, and the strangely familiar sensation of knees buckling uselessly beneath him. Something heavy and firm struck him from the side, and Rideaux was just about able to make sense of the feeling of strong arms wrapping around his body. The light was still coursing around them. _One more to go, there's one more to go._ Rideaux tried to raise his hand, tried to tell them, but his limbs refused to respond correctly. Something deep within him spasmed in reflexive terror— _no, not this, not again_ —and then he felt his legs jerk sharply beneath him. The agony that accompanied it had never felt more welcome, even as it tugged forcefully at the last dregs of his consciousness.

“I'll be his conduit,” A voice was saying over an incredible staccato thud coming from somewhere within his chest, and Rideaux tried to peer through the brilliant white haze to make out who was hovering over him. “Just tell me what to do.”  


Julius. _Oh, damn it, Julius..._

Other voices were murmuring assent, shadows hurrying into position around him. Rideaux tried to tell them no, tried to demand that Rowen do the damn job he'd been assigned, but if they heard him he couldn't tell. Then he was choking again, vicious hacking coughs seizing up his entire body and leaving him hopelessly unable to speak—he felt Julius’s grip on him tighten, like some old forgotten reflex finally coming back to the surface. The staggered beat in his chest was getting worse, but it took a sharp lurch of pain for Rideaux to belatedly understand the sound of his own struggling heart. _Oh, **hell**..._

He closed his eyes, blocked it all out, and for some reasons his thoughts twisted away from him. Obscenely, he found himself thinking of _her_. The _other_ Maxwell. The last time he’d performed a calculatrics arte had been at that phony Milla’s expense. Was she watching him now? Enjoying the show? Now, _now_ , of all the stupid times to think on it, Rideaux found himself wondering what she had felt in those final helpless seconds of her miserable life. The world darkened around him.

_No. I won't do it. I won't be sorry for what I am._

And then it was Julius again.

He didn't remember blacking out but he must have—for a few seconds or a few minutes, he wasn't sure. It was still the warehouse ceiling that hovered far above, and he could still hear his heart, irregular and juddering, but it all seemed softer now. Less urgent. The glaring brightness had dispersed, and Rideaux felt far away from whatever fear he should have been feeling. Maybe that was Julius's fault. Maybe it was because of her.

“Where is she...?” He heard himself ask, in a voice that hardly seemed his own.

It was Ivar who responded. “She's gone,” He said. Rideaux realised then that he was still on the ground, half-cradled in Julius's firm grip. Ivar was crouched beside them, and behind him hovered Leia, one hand pressed over her mouth and tear-stains marking her cheeks. “She made it, right to the end. She was incredible.”

 _I believe you._ Rideaux looked back to Julius—to the stupid stricken expression on Julius's face—and felt a thread of familiarity return to himself. “You should... really wear that expression more often,” He hissed, and when recognition dawned in Julius's eyes he couldn't keep the laughter from rising in his haggard throat.

It hurt, more than it had any right to. Rideaux gasped, clutching at the fabric of Julius's jacket for the sheer sake of squeezing _something_. His chest—his chest was tight. Too tight. The fear was back.

“I need medicine,” He gasped out, fixing Ivar the steeliest glare he could possibly manage in his pathetic state. “Chest... heart medication, at my apartment...” That was too far, _too far..._ “Just— find something...!”

“Right!” Ivar jolted back to attention, rubbing a hand quickly across his eyes before leaping to his feet and running toward the door. Leia followed behind him, yelling something over her shoulder. Rideaux turned his glower back on Julius, feeling... yes, tired. Tired again...

“I swear, Julius... Will Kresnik...” He said, each word more difficult than the last, “If I die here...”

Julius's grip tightened, crushing and firm—so very futile. “You're not going to die,” He swore, his deep voice catching on the words, “I swear, Rideaux. I’m not going to let that happen.”

_Thinking about my safety all along, huh…_

Julius had never been a good liar. Rideaux closed his eyes, and let that knowledge follow him down into the dark.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks so much for reading this far, and I'm sorry for the long wait on this one. I really hope you've enjoyed this story—writing it has been a joy and a privilege!
> 
>  
> 
> & oh, all right. that isn't really the end. stay tuned for the epilogue. soon™


	8. Epilogue

The room was awash in early evening light, blanched pale and criss-crossed with long thin shadows. He turned his head, or tried to—the room swayed and came back into focus, and he found himself with a clear view of the person standing by his side.

It was a man dressed in clinical white. His hair was thinning, his glasses edged with grim wire frames. It was the expression that gave him away, even after all these years—stern and dour, the face of a man unaccustomed to performing niceties. _Maybe this is where it all began for me._

Finally, with a slight start, the man noticed his stare. Rideaux, dazed and bewildered, still managed a bitter smile.

“So the doctor is still a doctor,” He said, in a voice that sounded less than half his own. As though he'd smoked thirty dozen cigarettes, or swallowed a barrel of powdered stone. Maybe both.

Derrick Mathis shrugged one shoulder in acknowledgement.

“And a tall boy has become a tall man.” Mathis looked away, consulting paperwork piled neatly upon the counter in front of him. “I didn't expect to be treating you again. Especially after so many years.”

“Some things never change,” Rideaux replied, and now he could _feel_ the rough undercurrent marring his words. His throat was raw. From shouting? That seemed right. Perhaps it was too soon to be awake after all. He closed his eyes—resting, just resting—and let his head loll to one side, relishing the feel of warm cotton against his cheek. It was unspeakably good.

Something squeezed his hand—he should have turned to see what, or who, but he couldn't bring himself to move again. “Stay with me, Rideaux,” A second voice said, and Rideaux drifted back into unconsciousness nursing the warm wondering thought of when exactly he'd given Julius permission to get all touchy-feely with him.

-

The next time Rideaux awoke, he found himself woefully unattended.

The room was steeped in a sort of pre-dawn gloom, light enough for him to see his surroundings but still no more than inked shadows for the distance. He could hear a garbled sort of tunefulness coming from outside the window, and it took a second for Rideaux to recognise the revolting and unusual sound of birds twittering their morning chorus.

Birds meant nature, and _nature_ surely meant he was somewhere in Rieze Maxia. A second glance around the room all but confirmed his theory; anything that could be made of wood, was. Desks, shelves, panelling, it was all the same pale boarded construction that just screamed Rieze Maxian. Rideaux groaned and closed his eyes, willing himself to fall back to sleep. Wherever he was, he _really_ didn't feel like dealing with it.

A few minutes later he was still awake, and his legs were beginning to cramp. The spread of pain circulating his limbs wasn't _quite_ as familiar as it should have been, like a well-known song sung in the wrong key. He felt heavy, weighted down, a skeleton laced with lead. Staying still wasn't making it any better. Rideaux grimaced as he rolled his shoulders, before struggling to first sit upright and then to push the covers back.

Disgustingly, he was still wearing the same shirt and trousers as he had been back at the warehouse, but the rest of his clothing had been removed, right down to his shoes and socks. Rideaux wriggled his toes experimentally, glad to find himself still in working order. Maybe this wasn't the pain he was used to, but at least he was up and moving. He swung around, dropped his feet over the edge of the mattress, and attempted to rise.

His knees buckled. Just at the same moment that Julius decided to enter the room.

Of course. _Naturally_.

Rideaux barely had time to curse before Julius was grabbing him, clearing the distance between them in two huge strides. There was an uncomfortable lurch and the sharp pinch of Julius's hand grasping his forearm, and for a horrifying second Rideaux thought they were _both_ going to hit the ground in a humiliating tangle of limbs. But Julius somehow yanked him upright, and they managed to keep their feet.

Which, in retrospect, was only marginally less humiliating.

Julius heaved a thorough sigh, tentatively loosening his grip on Rideaux's arm. “You're finally up,” He said, before giving a stern shake of his head. “You shouldn't be moving around.”

“Observant as ever, aren't you?” Rideaux bared his teeth in a sardonic smile, tugging at the creases of his shirt in something embarrassingly close to self-consciousness. At least there wasn't a mirror anywhere in sight—he didn't even want to imagine how awful he must look. Not at all interested in going back to bed, and certainly not interested in being dutifully tucked in by _Julius,_ Rideaux took a few teetering steps toward the window. It was slow going, but he forced himself to walk with his back straight and head held high. Julius didn't try to intervene.

The view outside was tranquil and boring. Just what he would have expected from some backwards Rieze Maxian hamlet. It didn't seem to be a large town, paved in light-coloured stone and dotted with plant life, and at this early hour in the day there weren't many people to be seen. Was it only yesterday that he'd been watching the sun rise in Drellin? Or had he been unconscious longer than that?

Rideaux crossed his arms and leaned beside the window, head tilted to watch the world pass slowly by. Julius joined him, placing one hand down on the window sill.

The gloved hand. Rideaux's stomach dropped with miserable dread.

Maybe Julius noticed something in his expression, or maybe he'd been expecting this conversation. Whatever the case, he shifted his stance, raised his other hand, and silently peeled the black leather away from his skin.

The flesh beneath it was still dark, but the colour was dull now, ash instead of coal. Julius raised the hand and coiled it into a tight fist, before spreading his fingers once more. Then, with the lightest hint of a smile, he held it forth for Rideaux's inspection. Rideaux found himself leaning closer, not quite able to suppress the burgeoning hope building in his chest as he took Julius's marred fingers between his own and gave an experimental squeeze. The flesh was warm, callused but whole; if Julius felt any pain at the touch, he was doing a remarkable job of concealing it.

“It actually worked?” He asked, not bothering to disguise the disbelief in his voice. Julius's laugh was genuine, right down to the sarcastic undercurrent.

“Don't sound so surprised,” Julius replied.

For a long moment, Rideaux had no idea what to say. Even in those final hours before going ahead, he'd never truly expected success.

Fortunately, Julius filled the silence. “Elle is fine. Upset about Maxwell's disappearance, but alive. The mark on her neck might fade with time. We're not sure.” Gently but firmly, Julius's pried his hand away from Rideaux's grip—Rideaux jerked away in response, belatedly recognising the way they'd been standing hand in hand. Julius pulled his glove back on. “No one else has ever recovered like this. We have no way of knowing what will happen next.”

If he'd had the mental energy, Rideaux would have rolled his eyes. Instead he scoffed, crossing his arms and leaning back against the wall once more. “Is that what you told the little dumpling as well? You're always such an optimist.”

“Says the one who didn't ever believe this would work,” Julius countered without malice, before his expression grew firmer, serious and concerned at once. “How much do you remember about what happened?”

 _Not much_. Rideaux looked at the ceiling, casting his thoughts back over the scattered stones of his recent memory. He remembered... pain. A lot of pain. He remembered the pulsing light, and seeing Maxwell. She had smiled toward the end, even though she must have been hurting worse than he had. Rideaux put the memory of her strength away, a secret resource no one ever had to know about.

He remembered Julius holding him, and the spasm of fresh pain that had overwhelmed him. He'd tried to stop them, trying to stop Julius from—Rideaux _scowled_. “Rowen was supposed to be the final conduit but _you_ did it instead,” he snapped, remembering.

A muscle twitched in Julius's jaw. “You didn't have to remember _that_ ,” He muttered.

“Did Bakur drop you on your head as a child, or were you just _born_ stupid?” This time Julius's expression darkened. Rideaux was almost tempted to keep pressing buttons, more disturbed than he was willing to admit... but he was tired, too. Too tired to fight with Julius right now. And he still had questions that needed answering. “You're lucky it didn't go worse for you,” He sighed, but waved a dismissive hand. Julius settled back, eyes still narrowed. “I don't remember much,” Rideaux finally admitted. “I don't even know where we are.”

“Leronde,” Julius replied, glancing out of the window. “Jude Mathis's hometown. This is the Mathis Family Clinic, run by his mother and father.”

Which explained the bizarre reappearance of Doctor Derrick Mathis. “Why did you bring me _here_?”

Julius gave him a curious look. “It was Jude's idea. He says you told him that Derrick Mathis had treated you in the past. We couldn't take you back to Triglyph or anywhere close without attracting unwanted attention. This seemed like the best place.”

It did make a _certain_ amount of sense. “That must have been a fun journey.”

“Don't remind me,” Julius sighed, long-suffering. Then, finally, he settled into the story. “The first transference was successful, but you were in poor shape. I didn't want to continue but you and Ludger were both insistent.”

That sounded strongly familiar. Rideaux remembered the stricken expression on Julius face, and feeling an uncharacteristic swell of appreciation toward Ludger Will Kresnik. Rideaux nodded for Julius to continue.

“During the second run, you activated your Chromatus.”

Rideaux nodded again, and kept his surprise to himself. That was something he _didn't_ remember, and yet it did seem strangely familiar. There had been a moment, hadn't there? A sudden surge of strength, right after he'd seen Maxwell. _It must have been then._ A subconscious action, the only untapped source he had left to get him through. There had to be something ironic about that.

“Afterwards, you collapsed. You were mostly unconscious. I acted as your conduit, we finished the arte, and then... Milla Maxwell vanished.” Julius coughed awkwardly, clearing his throat. “I wasn't watching, but Ivar tells me she smiled at the end.”

“Don't waste your time mourning,” Rideaux interrupted. “She'll be back soon enough. Probably just in time to meddle in something that doesn't concern her. That's what spirits do, isn't it?”

Julius gave him a sour look, but didn't challenge what he'd said. “Ivar's taken her disappearance to heart. For some reason he seems to like you. Try and say something nice to him when you have the chance.”

“What am I, his babysitter? Besides, you're underestimating him.” Julius tilted his head, a question written into the motion. Rideaux shrugged. “This isn't the first time his precious Maxwell has up and left him behind. He's an idiot, but he'll survive.”

“Nice to see you showing faith in someone for a change.”

Rideaux responded with a dry stare and a change of topic, ignoring the smile Julius failed to repress. “So. Uncle Julius and his adorable niece have matching scars now. How delightful for you.”

That certainly seemed to catch Julius attention. Rideaux tensed with anticipation, ignoring the jab of pain that accompanied his actions. But... was Rideaux imagining it, or was there something strange in Julius's expression?

“Actually,” Julius said, “You should... take a look.”

He waved a cryptic gesture in the direction of Rideaux's waist and then averted his gaze. Bemused beyond words, Rideaux cautiously teased the fabric of his shirt up.

There, settled across the jut of pelvic bone at his right hip, lay the telltale mark of a divergence catalyst. Rideaux stared. It was spread across his flesh like an oil slick, starting high on his waist before tapering away somewhere beneath the band of his trousers. It looked dark, inky against his pale skin, but Rideaux could tell that it had dimmed to the same ashen tone that marked Julius and Elle. Wherever this had come from, it was no longer a threat to him.

It hadn't been there the last time he looked at himself.

“Oh.” Rideaux smoothed his shirt back into place, and waited for Julius to meet his gaze before cocking his head. “So.” He smiled, false and serene. “Took a little peep, did you?”

To his credit, Julius looked more indignant than embarrassed. “It wasn't like that. Derrick asked who your next-of-kin was. I... wasn't sure who else to suggest.”

Julius Will Kresnik, his next-of-kin. Rideaux rolled the thought over in his mind, trying to decide whether or not he liked the sound of it. “Sounds ghastly,” he lied.

“Mm.” For such a non-committal response, Julius certainly did look repulsed by the notion. Rideaux smirked as Julius continued. “Derrick asked me if that mark had been there before. I told him I didn't think so.” Julius looked to him for confirmation, and Rideaux nodded.

“It wasn't.” Rideaux looked down at his body once more, thinking again of the marred skin now concealed beneath his crinkled shirt. Thinking of what it meant.

As usual, Julius seemed to be running along similar lines. His expression was sombre, arms folded and frown settled into place. “Bakur won't let this go. Ludger still has the Waymarkers, and the Key of Kresnik. Bakur will reclaim them or die trying.” Julius's lip twitched as he added, “And he'll still be needing his bridge.”

 _Of course_. “You couldn't have waited for my insides to finish closing up before reminding me?”

If Rideaux didn't know better he would have sworn that Julius's expression softened with some sort of unspoken empathy.

“Our part of this is over, Rideaux.” Sunlight was beginning to creep into the room, casting warm light across Julius's tired face. “Derrick says you're going to need time to recover. I'll stay here with you.”

Blindsided, Rideaux quickly grabbed on to the most obvious petty comment he could muster on short notice. “You're finally going to let baby Ludger leave the nest? You must be so proud.”

“Something like that,” Julius replied, discomfort lacing his words. “Ludger's been wronged during all of this. He deserves the chance to set things right. It's about time I stopped interfering and let him make his own choices.”

“And it's about time you finally realised what _I've_ been saying all along.” Rideaux could see the brittle concern Julius was trying to conceal, and he _really_ didn't want to deal with it. With a languid shrug he padded back across the room on bare feet, turning to sit on the bed and give Julius a pointed stare. “If you really are planning to stick around then you better find something _else_ to talk about for a change. Because when it comes to you and Ludger Will Kresnik, let me tell you one thing—I am _sick of it_.”

He'd expected Julius to respond with anger, to get defensive or inevitably start talking about precious Ludger _anyway_. Instead his expression narrowed to a wry smile and his posture eased, loose and faux-casual. “Suit yourself. What are you planning to do next?”

Rideaux scoffed, easing himself back onto the bed. “First of all, I'm going to kick you out. Then I'm going to take a shower. Do they even have showers here?” Julius opened his mouth to respond, and Rideaux pointedly spoke over him. “Then I'm going to have something hot to eat. After that...” _After that..._ “Do I even have a job any more?”

“I wouldn't count on it.” Julius stood up, and his smile eased into one of perfect insincere patience. “Stay here—I'll get you some food.”

Rideaux watched Julius leave the room, beginning to consider Julius's question. No job, a body that barely worked, and the grim knowledge that one of the most powerful men alive still wanted to kill him. It wasn't the most uplifting of future prospects.

But it _was_ a future. A future that seemed to include both himself _and_ the boorish oaf that was Julius Will Kresnik. Rideaux slowly smiled, shifting to settle back against the pillows before raising a hand to tenderly brush against the blackened mark on his hip. He was here, against the odds. Still alive. Still struggling on.

It would be interesting to see just how much longer he could keep it going.

And, he thought, smile sharpening into a familiar smirk, just how long it would take to wipe that satisfied look off Julius's face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> and that's the end! thank you so much to everyone who's commented over the past year (?!?!!?), every single positive word has meant a tremendous amount to me. I've had an absolutely wonderful time writing this story, and knowing so many people have responded positively to it is the absolute best thing I could have ever hoped for.
> 
> That being said! Extra thanks go to my amazing beta and partner Fel (this fic would be a lot more stilted and typo-laden without her many blessings, I assure you), and extra extra thanks of course go to Nienna, as without her this fic would never have existed in the first place. Since we're almost exactly a year on, I shall say it one last time—Merry Christmas, and thank you for being my wonderful secret santa recipient! IT HAS BEEN A BLAST.


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